Dirty Carlisle
by Wrong13
Summary: I'm a cautionary tale if ever there was one.  I'd make Nabokov feel dirty.  I'd make Fitzgerald hit the bottle even harder.  I'd make Hemingway smile and nod. OOC sex and whatnot... B/C
1. Chapter 1

I love Carlisle and Bella and all sorts of naughty badness, and by badness, I mean licks and slapping sounds. I haven't read much of C/B, but when I do, I expect it to be all sorts of inappropriate. So in that same vein, here's my contribution. Think of this as some sort of warning, you can classify what kind.

Twilight is S. M.'s.

* * *

We've been playing this cat and mouse game all year. He knows that I know that he knows what he's doing to me. And as best as I know, no one else is aware of it. That makes it all that much better. And so very much, much worse.

And the worst part about all of it is, I don't care that I'm a bad, bad girl. I'm a cautionary tale if ever there was one. I'd make Nabokov feel dirty. I'd make Fitzgerald hit the bottle even harder. I'd make Hemingway smile and nod.

I'm not gonna place blame, I mean we all have free will but for the record, my father, Charlie, pushed me into this. He suggested, offered me up really, to Carlisle, Dr. Cullen at the time, that I could work in his office. And that led to the babysitting gig with the Cullen's'. I had higher education to pay for after all and working 12 hours a week at Newton's Sporting Goods wasn't going to get me much further than Peninsula College. I wanted to shake the mud of this town off of me and travel to parts unknown.

xxx

"Bells, I talked to Dr. Cullen, he's interested in you helping him after school two days a week, you should give him a call." Charlie said this like it was an option, but it wasn't. He didn't have the ways and means to pay for college and he didn't really think I needed to leave Forks anyway; big cities scared him and he didn't trust them either. No wonder he and my mom got divorced.

"Dad, this is embarrassing, why'd you have to go talk to him?" I hated when I dad threw his police chief weight around on my behalf. It was bad enough none of the guys at school would spare me a second glance, or that weekend nights were spent plotting my escape from Forks, Washington instead of keg parties and vaguely illegal drugs. I was an honor roll student out of boredom, not brains.

"I didn't ask him, I saw him at the hospital and we got a-talkin' and he asked me how you were doing. Then mentioned he was looking for some afternoon help at his office and wondered if you'd be interested."

Charlie must be nervous, he never spoke this much, he either is lying about this so-called run in with Dr. Cullen or he's embarrassed by me having to pay my own way for college. At that thought I turned off the indignant ice machine attitude and gave Charlie a break.

"Fine, I'll call his office on Monday," I told him, resigned to the embarrassment of the situation.

"Uh, here," Charlie fished around in his pocket and pulled out an expensive looking business card, heavy card stock and engraving, the whole bit. "He said this was his personal information if you felt more comfortable calling him at home," Charlie looked expectant.

Looking at the card I wondered what the big deal about this was. We're in a small town, there are not a lot of jobs to be had outside of the logging and fishing industries, why would Dr. Cullen want me, a junior in high school, to be working in his office?

"Thanks, Dad, I'll let you know how it goes."

"Strike while the iron's hot, Bells, he seemed really interested in you," Charlie calls after me as I run up the stairs.

* * *

**A/N** So I see this as just a few chapters, but if there's some interest I'll see what I come up with.

Reviews lead to explicit naughtiness. You know, if that's your thing…


	2. Chapter 2

So, apparently there are a few dirty birds out there who signed up for some rude bits of Carlisle and Bella. Clap, clap.

Twilight, Stephenie Meyer… Is this just a nicety or does someone go around and check that it's listed somewhere?

* * *

Chapter Two

"_Strike while the iron's hot, Bells, he seemed really interested in you," Charlie calls after me as I run up the stairs._

WTF? I've met Dr. Cullen twice that I can remember. The first time after stupid fucking Tyler Crawley T'd into my car in the school parking lot, Dr. Cullen was working in the Emergency Room and saw to my injuries. The second was with his wife, Esme; they were leaving the grocery store as I was entering it. It was an odd and slightly uncomfortable exchange.

"_Isabella Swan, good to see you," _Dr. Cullen had said.

I was thrown, how often does a Doctor remember you? Especially one you saw in an ER.

"_Dr. Cullen, right?" _Charlie had introduced us in the examine room but I still fairly dazed from nearly being squashed by Tyler's don't-come-a-knockin'-when-this-van's-a-rockin' van.

"_Yes, exactly," _he looked at me with twinkling , was he this good looking before? The longish medium blond hair, and are those highlights natural? The tropical ocean colored eyes and the glimpse of his strong chest through the opening of his coat, how can women be around him day in and day out and not want to pull him into a supply closet or something? And beside his obvious good looks, he has the confidence that only being a blueblood can bring.

I heard someone lightly clear a throat.

Dr. Cullen almost shook his head to regain something, his train of thought maybe? I brought my hand up to my mouth to check if it was hanging open and gaping at him.

"_Esme, dear, this is Isabella Swan, she's the police chief's daughter."_

I mumbled that it was nice to meet her, always shy about my father's very public job, I held out my hand to shake hers.

"_It's very lovely to meet you, Isabella," _she looked at me a little too long and I was shifting my weight becoming increasingly more uncomfortable under her gaze. She stood there holding my hand in a very dainty manner and grasping my forearm lightly with her other hand. It was uncomfortable.

"_Well, Isabella,"_ fortunately for me Dr. Cullen interrupted Esme's hand fondling, and then I interrupted him.

"_Bella,"_ I said drawing my eyes back to the strikingly handsome doctor, I was momentarily distracted thinking about fisting my hands in his thick locks. _"Um, most people call me Bella," _I gave him a tight and awkward smile making a conscious effort not to rub my thighs together at the curiosity of how soft his hair might be.

"_Bella," _Dr. Cullen said with just a hint of slowness, and the tip of his tongue peeking out from his lips when he said the l's in my name was a beautiful sight too.

After that little run in, the next time I was with Jake as he, per usual, clumsily tried in vain to get me off, I had unbidden visions of Dr. Cullen. I finally pushed Jake off of me, and masturbated myself to a near shattering climax becoming more and more aware that I was fully picturing Dr. Cullen the entire time, all while Jake sat there and watched with rapt attention while I fingered myself. He thought it was a new wrinkle of kink in our tiresome relationship when really it was a necessity. Or want. Fuck, I couldn't tell which.

That little exchange with Jake and Dr. Cullen in abstention was a few months ago and I hadn't seen Dr. Cullen since. I guess he remembers me in some vague capacity. God, could I look at Dr. Cullen again remembering how I had pictured his face between thighs instead of Jake's clueless mug that is continually confused by a woman's anatomy, and, to note, one of the most exciting parts of a woman's bodies. If only Jake would commit to memory where my clit is so he could watch me arch my back and grab my breasts and have a clue the amount of arousal touch brings pleasure. Fuck, am I breathing a little heavier imagining Dr. Cullen having more than a clue what to do with my body.

I fish my phone out of my pocket and stare at the screen while my teeth worry my lip. Dr. Cullen doesn't have clue one about my fantasy involving him, besides, he probably asked Charlie about me just to be polite and Charlie took it at face value and set about to unknowingly embarrass both Dr. Cullen and myself. Alright, might as well get this over with and call Dr. Cullen. I shut my bedroom door and go and sit back against the headboard of my bed.

I touch the card again, biding my time until I realize that the longer I take to make this phone call, the longer it takes before I can leave Forks, literally. If I can work a couple of afternoons a week at the doctor's office I can bank one of those paychecks, and not have to split Newton's between everyday expenses and saving for school. It sucks Charlie has to be so upstanding and couldn't be paid off for something once in awhile. Stupid Charlie and his over-developed sense of morality, chalk that up to another rift between he and my mom, Renee.

I dial the number listed on the card.

"This is Carlisle Cullen." He says this briskly. What kind of name is Carlisle? It sounds so old moneyish.

"Uh, hi, Dr. Cullen, this is Isabella Swan, my father spo-," I'm cutoff mid-word.

"Is it Isabella or Bella?" Dr. Carlisle Cullen asks contemplatively with at-ease familiarity and a distinct side of teasing, I am sucked in immediately, answering his question without much thought.

"I guess I thought it sounded more businesslike if I called myself Isabella." God, was I that much of a lame that I just admitted that shit? Note to _Isabella_, think before speaking, or better yet, try not to speak at all. Well, that won't work; try speaking only when necessary.

"If I was looking for businesslike I would hire someone like my mother. Every once in awhile I would rather have someone fresh and fun." I let my mind wander filling his statement with double entendres and veiled meanings. I wonder what he's wearing right now.

"Bella?" Shit, my mind was drifting while he was still talking. How silly of me to waste my time thinking of inappropriate deeds when I could have been relishing his commanding voice. His voice has just an undertone of a gravel to it, the kind of voice that is the star of the lacrosse team and always the life of the party, the guy who can with ease tap a keg and have the ingrained manners to still know it's polite to offer a light of a girl's cigarette. Or so I would imagine. I wonder how he would sound if he were telling me to remove my panties for him?

"Bella?" His voice is now wondering if I'm still on the line, and I realize my hand has settled on my breast and my fingers pulling on my nipple, my mouth open and my tongue running along my upper teeth. Ugh, he can probably hear me mouth breathing. How do I not even realize I'm doing these things?

I shake my head rattling my errant thoughts back into the dirty part of my brain and finally answer him. "I'm sorry, Dr. Cullen, I lost hold of my phone there for a minute, I missed what you said." I hate lying and that was an entirely weak one too, but it was a necessity, I couldn't exactly tell him I was wondering how his voice would sound leading up to the throes of passion.

He chuckled, brushing away my poor manners and crap attempt to lie about it. "I asked if you would be able to come over for a few minutes this afternoon so we could discuss what I'm looking for and to see if you'd be interested in the position, should only be about a half hour, maybe an hour."

I looked at the clock, it read 12:05, and I had to be to work by 2:00 PM.

"Um, Dr. Cullen, would it fit into your schedule if I come by now? I have to work this afternoon until 6:00, but if it's inconvenient for you, I could stop by your office some time during the week. I mean, whatever works for you," I ramble out. God, I'm so not smooth; whatever happened to smart-enough-to-belong-to-the-National-Honors-Society-Bella, involved-in-so-many-school school-activities-she-barely-has-time-to-cook-her-father-dinner-Bella, self-sufficient-and-self-reliant-Bella? I don't know, but wherever that Bella went she must have taken any modicum of self-confidence with her. Oh, that Bella and her transient ways, I sigh to myself.

"Yeah, come on by, I'll be around all afternoon." And with that, he gave me directions to his house and hung up saying he was looking forward to seeing me.

No chance of looking good when I had to go to Newton's. I hate having to wear hiking and outdoor clothes when I work. I don't think I'm fooling anyone into thinking I'm a camper or a hiker and certainly not a hunter, blaze orange and rifles are not my gig, that much I knew to be true, but Mr. and Mrs. Newton wanted their employees to represent the store and all it held. I pull out my little khaki North Face hiking shorts with the gusseted crotch, which is hardly a necessity due to the lack of peaks and strides I will have to take today within the confines of the "Outdoor Sports Department", but my short's claim is true, I've never come home from working from the fake camping and hiking terrain and had one bit of chaffing.

I also slip on the Newton Sporting Goods embroidered white polo shirt, which I was convinced Mike purposefully ordered a size too small; I look like Chesty Chesterton in this thing. Funny how all of the men's shirts are well fitting while every single woman working there spends each day pulling and tugging at her shirt to stop it from riding up. I wonder if Mr. and Mrs. Newton have any idea what a pervy offspring they have.

I fix my hair with a ponytail and a swipe of colored lip balm and slide on my Vans, thankful that Newton's sold the odd skater gear; grab my keys and shout to Charlie that I'm going to meet Dr. Cullen before going to work.

"Good luck, Bells," Charlie says after me while he's tying flies so he can go fishing tomorrow morning.

"'Bye dad, dinner's in the fridge if you get hungry," and with that I climb into my hideous Sanford and Son pickup truck, with the huge dent in the driver's side door and follow the directions over to the Cullen home.

x

Holy shit, who knew something like this existed within Forks Township? There is a mossy and timbered drive curving, leading up to a river stone foundation, white clapboard and glass home that is larger than anything I've ever seen in person. It makes my home look like a garden shed.

I pull up closer and see someone bent over an open hood of a car. Putting my clutch in Park, I turn off the ignition to see Dr. Cullen rise up from the car's hood and give me a wave of his hand. My breath catches. There in the dappled early afternoon light, standing in front of my truck is Dr. Carlisle Cullen wearing nothing more than a pair of faded red board shorts slung down low enough – wait, I have to get out of the truck to see how low they're slung.

My breath hitches again in full view of him. Those beautiful, worn out shorts are slung low enough so I see a line of dark blond hair from his belly button on down, down, down, my God those shorts of low, and I wonder if he's even wearing any underwear? I'm thankful to be wearing a pair of dark sunglasses so I can assess the rest of his body; he looks like he should be on the cover of like _Men's Health_ or one of those other magazines that parade around like they're for the good of the body when all they are, are an excuse to show off scantily clad men or women in somewhat provocative poses. Not that I'm complaining. Those hipbones, that Man V, the moderately muscled arms and chest, the slight tan and the smattering of hair across Dr. Cullen's chest – fuck, fuck, fuck this man is hot, hot, hot. Hot. Alright, _Isabella_, pull yourself together, and stop mentally drooling.

"Bella, good to see you," Dr. Cullen says casually and I notice he's eating an apple. Of course, the temptation is palpable, at least for me.

"Hi, Dr. Cullen," I stand there not knowing what to do with myself and wanting to fold my arms over my chest, embarrassed by my nipples which have hardened almost painfully into pert tips, the lace of my bra doing little to conceal them. I stand there and catch him looking me up and down. Huh.

"Here, come into the house while I clean up so we can talk."

I hope cleaning up doesn't involve putting a shirt on.

He leads me into the foyer that is beautiful honey wood and very pale green walls.

"Your home is beautiful," I comment, wanting to be polite and not appear like a country bumpkin.

"You haven't seen it, come in, I'll show you around."

We go into the kitchen which is in and to the right of the entry, down two low steps. It's all built-ins and stainless steel and commercial grade everything with copper skillets and pots all hanging from a black iron rod above the six-burner stove.

"Do you like to cook, Bella?" Dr. Cullen asks while washing his hands at the center island sink. There's also another sink behind him on the counter lining the back wall of windows.

"Uh, yeah, I thought I did but after seeing this setup I think I have appliance envy," I say dryly, finally regaining my sense of humor with a cock of my eyebrow.

He gives another chuckle followed with a mischievous smile. He takes a kitchen towel and dries his hands which I note are rather large with long fingers and well manicured nails.

"Here, let's go into my den and talk," he gestures for me to go ahead of him and then, heart begins pumping wildly, lightly takes my slightly bent elbow and leads me down a hall lining the living room into another room with the honey floors covered in most definitely looking antique Persian rugs. I look around, and this is the epitome of a den, a leather wingback chairs, more river stones making up a huge fireplace, bookshelves lining one whole wall, and the glass back wall with a door letting out to a stone patio. I look and see another stone patio over, probably off the living room and there are a couple of barbecue grills and well appointed rattan furniture and an outdoor fire pit. It's like _House and Garden_ met up with Williams Sonoma and created this domestic rapture. Upon Dr. Cullen's offering, I take a seat in the wingback chair and notice how its coolness and polished leather softness wrap around me in the most delightful of ways.

"Really, your home is like," I shrug my shoulders unable to find the best word to describe it, "unbelievable," I finish weakly.

"Thank you, and Esme will be very flattered as well."

Oh yeah, Esme, no doubt the most faultless wife ever, she can probably deep throat him and cook the perfect boeuf bourguignon and make a bed with precise hospital corners too. I am fighting the urge to hate her based up on made up principle alone.

"So, Bella, would you be interested in helping at my office a couple of afternoons a week? Charlie said you were working at Newton's but were always trying to pick up extra shifts. I thought this might be something that would interest you.

I was looking at Dr. Cullen's nipples and wondered if his were sensitive. I read once that men were disappointed that women so often overlooked a man's nipples as a place of stimulation so I had made a concerted effort to not overlook them on Jake and he complained, saying if I was going to use that much tongue on something it should be his dick and not his nips. I didn't use my tongue on anything for two weeks after that comment.

"Yes, that would interest me, I would really want to work for you," I said way too eagerly. "But," oh why does my mouth continue talking when my brain is done thinking, "you don't even know me, what if I'm a complete clod at this." I couldn't help but ask the question, I had no idea what he wanted and what his interest was in me to begin with.

He was looking at me straight in the eyes. "Bella, all I would need you to do is answer the phone that the pharmacies call and write down what the prescription number is for refilling, it's probably rather boring but a necessity nonetheless. It wouldn't be the front desk, but that might be better, you wouldn't want to have to be around all those sick people." He scrunches up his face, sticks the point of his tongue out and shakes his head, I laugh.

"Ah, the girl has a sense of humor," he gives me a soft smile that manages to endear him to me and make my nipples re-harden. Amazing.

"What made you ask Charlie about me?" I can't help but ask. None of this makes sense.

Much to my dismay, Dr. Cullen reaches behind him and takes a t-shirt from the back of his chair and stands up to put it on. I watch as his well-toned abdomen becomes concave as he brings his arms through the sleeves and hooks the neck hole over his head and sadly the white cotton covers up the glorious expanse of his skin. I hope my sigh was not out loud. Dr. Cullen looks at me with amusement.

"Bella, I've met you two times and each time you have demonstrated a calm exterior that most likely belies your age. The first, you were in the ER after a, pardon my language, dumb fucking idiot who had been fiddling with his iPod and not paying attention to the wet pavement plowed right into your car. You were collected and not afraid despite what could have been a horrific outcome. The second time was at the supermarket, you were holding a list in your hand which led me to believe you were shopping for you and your father. It showed me someone who's responsible. These are qualities I look for in my office, accountability and level headedness." He looked at me with a small smile playing on his dark red lips. I lick my own lips and clench my thigh muscles and think about how I like when he says words like _wet_.

I was taken aback by his extensive opinion of me. Quite frankly, I was embarrassed by it. Especially given the fact that I wanted to take my tongue and explore every plane and curve of his sculptured body.

"Thank you," I looked down shyly before bringing my eyes back up to his.

"Right, good then," he says with his elbow propped up, his long middle finger rubbing back and forth over his thumbnail. He's looking at me with a slightly furrowed brow, like he's debating something. He speaks again, abruptly. "Right, then, would you have about 45 minutes or so before work. We should take some blood, we run tests checking for Hepatitis, HIV, and drug use. I can take you into the office and draw it myself and get it off to the lab so you would be able to start this week, if you're interested?"

"Oh, yeah, totally, you move quickly," I respond pushing away the thoughts of needles and blood bags to the fact that I am now almost extra gainfully employed and the idea of leaving Forks all that much sooner after graduation not seeming so far off in the distance.

"I move quickly when need be, I think we're in agreement this will be beneficial for us both," and he cocks his head to the side and gives me a look of something more than just a beneficial business endeavor. I note that he glances briefly at my chest. I do a few Kegel exercises to stem the flow of heat, _down there_, but it doesn't work, I am mortified my arousal is scenting the air.

I glance at my watch, it's about a quarter to 1:00, I can make it.

"Okay, I have time if you do," I say with conviction, my fear of blood is outweighed by my desire to spend a few more minutes with Dr. Cullen.

"Good, I'll meet you down at the cars, you can follow me into the medical building," and he gets up and gestures for me to leave his office, at the foyer he opens the door for me. "I'm just going to put some pants on, I'll be out in a minute."

So long, beautiful red faded board shorts with the frayed edges and visible line of hair, it was nice meeting you.

Dr. Cullen comes down a couple of minutes later in the same white t-shirt but a pair of worn chinos and seen-better-days black loafers, he looks like he just stepped away from the Kennedy compound, I wonder what he'd look like holding a football.

I follow him and soon we're in a deserted parking lot of an office building. Dr. Cullen carries on light conversation leading me into his office, I take a seat in the blood-letting chair, okay, it's one of those recliner type chairs with the wide armrests. I am anxious which is apparent by the throbbing vein in my neck.

"Does this make you uncomfortable, Isabella?" Dr. Cullen asks as he sets out the implements of destruction on a metal tray next to him.

"Yes, terribly," I say with measured fear. I look at him with my brown eyes wide as saucers, then I look down at the items laid about neatly on the tray.

Dr. Cullen looks at me thoughtfully, I hold his gaze and hold by body from stiffening further.

"Okay, Bella," he says in a smooth, caramel voice, "I want you to keep your eyes on me, this won't take long, you'll be okay."

I take a stiff breath and let it out slowly, I lock my jaw open halfway and nervously run my tongue over the top edges of my teeth.

Dr. Cullen pulls my right arm out so my hand is inches from his chest, he keeps his eyes on me. He take his left hand, he hasn't put the latex-free gloves on yet and runs his bare fingers from above my elbow to down to my open palm, my eyes are glued to his and I feel my breathing quicken, he rubs up and down several more times. Once again my nipples are straining hard against the confines of my bra and I fight the urge to squirm around in the chair in search of friction.

I see Dr. Cullen swallow thickly, continuing to keep his eyes on mine.

"Bella," he says slowly, "I'm going to take my eyes off of you a moment to start, you'll be okay," he reiterates.

He puts those gloves on both hands and takes the rubber tourniquet thing and goes to tie it around my upper arm, in the process he brushes the side of my breast, I take a quick intake of air. He glances to his side catching me looking at his hands, he rubs his lips together so I see the top of his teeth grazing his full bottom lip. I press my sex into the chair and slightly rock back and forth hoping like hell he doesn't notice. To say the air was charged with something traditionally wrong would be an understatement.

I can smell the alcohol swab as he brings it to just below the bend of my arm, it's cold and feels delicious, cooling the heated and rushing blood in my veins.

I feel the thumbs of Dr. Cullen testing which vein to tap but I'm certain it doesn't matter, they are all swollen with the life of sensation coursing through them.

I take another intake of breath when I feel the needle enter my skin, my eyes undoubtedly are fierce with desire as it too flows through by body. I slowly bring my gaze back to the doctor's eyes, his look seems to match my own, dark and desirous and dirty, dirty, dirty. He licks his lips while I watch the slow movement of his tongue across them, I am filled with all sorts of want I have never known before.

Every inch of my body is heightened and when he trails his hand up the inside of my forearm with the cotton ball. The hand of my untapped arm is all but gripping the other armrest holding myself back. I tip my head back and close my eyes.

Does Dr. Cullen know what he's doing to me? Surely he must. I open my eyes to see his Adam's apple bob, his neck red with a flush. Is he feeling the same as I am?

He takes the cotton ball and tapes it over where the needle has been removed. The pain all but forgotten in the wake of his touch.

Dr. Cullen looks at me, searching my face for something before regaining himself and reentering doctor mode.

"See, you're okay," he pats my inner wrist, the spell being broken. He folds my arm up so my wrist is by my shoulder.

"Here," he hands me a package of those disgusting orange crackers with the peanut butter, "in case you feel woozy, you shouldn't though, I just took a small amount for testing.

"Thank you, Dr. Cullen." I suddenly want to flee, afraid that I just imagined what happened between us. Hopefully he will have forgotten this when I start later this week.

"Thank you," he emphasizes. "So, will Thursdays and Fridays work for you?"

"Yeah, that'll work," I try to regain proper perspective to my equilibrium. I get up and start to leave.

"I'll see you then," he says, looking straight at me. I look for a quick beat then cast my eyes downward, I can't put myself through having fantasies about my future boss and a man twice my age, can I?

Once I'm outside I stop and lean up against the building, putting my cheek against the cool of the bricks. I repeat a mantra along the lines of, _I have a boyfriend_, _I have a boyfriend_, _I have a boyfriend_. Saying that is enough to stem any illicit thoughts of one Dr. Carlisle Cullen.

xxx

So I thought that was it with Dr. Cullen. I thought he, like me, just got caught up in one bizarre and heady moment. I craved to ask the other women who worked in his office if he had taken their blood and had a similar experience but obviously, there was no way I could do that.

On nights when I was in my bed, Charlie's steady snoring traveling down the hallway and through my door, when I knew Jake wouldn't be calling or texting me, when all the lights on the block were dimmed or off, I would reach my hands underneath the covers.

I would unbutton my pajama top and slip my hands over my breasts and feel them in my hands. I would tease my nipples to the point of bordering on pain then take my right hand and slide it slowly down the center of my torso and underneath my pajama pants and rest it on my sex. I would recount those few minutes of the subtle and sultry feeling that passed between Dr. Cullen and myself, I never strayed from the actual events.

My breathing would pick up after he would tell me to keep my eyes on his. When I would get to the part where he brushed the side of my breast and his teeth had bitten into his lip, I slip one finger into me and feel the pooling wetness there. Recalling the moment when the needle broke my skin and entered my vein, I bring my hand up to my clit and circle it one way then the other way, and all the while I am furiously teasing my left nipple, then my right, working myself up into a near sexual frenzy. And when I am on the edge of my climax, fingering and rubbing and pinching and rocking and remembering, I think of Dr. Cullen licking those dark red lips and those dark and dangerous eyes staring right back at me, and I fall, stifling my moans and panting by biting into my pillow. Then I remove my hand from my pants to lick my fingers clean, and imagine it's Dr. Cullen's mouth and not mine.

And after every time this happens, I can't look at Dr. Cullen for days after, afraid that he would see it written all over my face, _Dr. Cullen, I bring myself to climax thinking of your hands on my heated skin_. No, I can't risk it. And after a year of doing this I tell myself to move on, find another fantasy, think of my boyfriend, or picture an actor, anything but the torture I see twice a week. And I had almost done that, almost moved on until Saturday afternoon at the Senior Class Apple Festival. I was standing in front of the dunking machine trying to square up my shoulders to throw a ball so I could knock Jake into the pool of water. I had missed twice and had just one more ball left.

That's when Dr. Cullen came up beside me. He was in those same worn chinos, this time with a pair of old school looking adidas and a Beastie Boys concert tee. How could such a laid-back outfit look all kinds of scorching on this guy? I wanted to slip my hands underneath his tee and trace every area of his chest.

"Seems you're having a hard," I caught how he emphasized _hard_, "time handling these balls." Balls? Hard?

"Yeah, completely missing the target, Doc," lamefuck Jacob hollered towards me. I saw him eying Leah as she walked past. To her credit, she completely ignored him.

"I'll help you hit the target, Isabella," he licked his lips.

"Okay," I looked up at him and whispered out, and I licked my lips too.

* * *

**A/N **Yeah, it looks like I'm going to make this a story. I feel cheap and tawdry asking for reviews, but really, they are intoxicating. And as an aside, there won't be any medical kink in this.


	3. Chapter 3

Twilight = S. Meyer

Bad wigs = Summit Entertainment

* * *

Chapter Three

"_I'll help you hit the target, Isabella," he licked his lips._

"_Okay," I looked up at him and whispered out, and I licked my lips too._

The Senior Class Apple Festival is a tradition where the Forks High School and the Quileute Tribal School get together and have this festival to raise money for student activities. Each class has a booth and then each football team sets up an activity too. My school's football team does a version of a Scotch caber toss, where someone takes a log, runs a bit then tries tossing it end over end but we do it without the kilts. Jake's school's team does a dunking booth, where a person sits on a platform that's above a tank filled with water, and someone throws a ball trying to hit the target and dunk the person sitting on the platform. Both activities are a show of manly testosterone, each opposing team member trying to out dick each other, Jake always tries to get several digs into my school by telling me lame our football players are, I never bother to tell him our lame football players pee in their tank water.

This Apple Festival draws all of Forks, La Push and every other neighboring community within a 30 mile radius, year in and year out. It's this grand fundraiser started post World War II, and our communities still tries to morph itself back to that time where mothers stayed at home and fathers wore grey flannel suits and took trains into Manhattan every morning to reinvent the world of advertising and lending. Clearly this is not our town's history as the men wore plaid flannel shirts and drove pickup truck to lumber and fishing sites and women packed lunch pails and worried if their husbands would fall to their deaths or come home drunk and filled with the smell of fish or sawdust. I hold a certain disdain for this ersatz small town atmosphere we recreate year after year, it's fake and I don't see why we don't embrace who we actually are instead of trying to be some idealized post World War II dream.

But all of that is forgotten as I stand here with the deliciously forbidden Dr. Cullen who so temptingly is offering me something. I wait for him to take the lead, my eyes pleading with him to move forward from the holding pattern we've been in since that Sunday when he drew my blood. I want to leave the sleepy little hamlet of Pleasantville and becoming a boarder in the megalopolis of Open 24 Hours.

I swallow thickly, waiting for him to do something, anything to me.

"Yeah, Doc, give my girl a hand, she needs all the help she can get," Jake yells from his perch. His voice sounds like a far off echo from the back of a cave.

Dr. Cullen tips his head to the side, his lips parted and his eyes dark and devilish. Is he teasing me? I search his face for some clues of how I am supposed to proceed. He takes cool control.

"Here," and he places his hands on each of my shoulders and turns me to the throwing line. He leans in to speak into my ear but does it in a way so as not to draw any curious stares.

"Isabella," my name from his lips is like a chocolate covered strawberry, juicy and so luscious, I want to drag my hand from my hip to my breast to feel the prickling of my skin that his voice elicits. "Square your shoulders up, stand up straight," Dr. Cullen gently pulls my shoulders back and takes a hand to lightly run down my spine, almost pushing between my shoulder blades to accentuate my chest. I hope to the casual observer or passerby that his actions look no different than if he were showing a little leaguer how to stand at a plate and take a pitch.

"Okay now, bend your knees a bit," and for the briefest of moments, his cock is pressed up between my ass cheeks as he takes his knee against the back of my knee to break them of their locks, his hand is still on my shoulders to steady me.

"Loosen her up a bit," Jake's voice sounds again from that far off place.

"Now turn yourself a bit," Dr. Cullen turns my body to an angle with my left foot in front. "And cock," oh a lovelier word has never been created, "your right arm back, positioning your fingers this way on the ball." _Cock_ and _balls_, alright, _ball_, but whatever, killing me softly with his words and all. He's putting his hand over mine and moving my fingers in position. Simultaneously my heart is racing and my nipples are quivering.

"Okay," I say slowly. I take my fingers and move them how I think he has just shown me. "Is this right?" I practically whisper out, turning and looking, not at him, but at his dark red lips, I'm too afraid to look at him in his eyes knowing he would see every ounce of want and desire pour forth from my dilating pupils.

"Just about," he licks his lips, it's nearly my undoing, but I stifle my gasp. "Here, try it like this," he shows me the grip again.

"Thanks, I got it," this time I am able to look at him in the eyes and he gives me a wink then a quick eye lock with me. And not one of those cheesy game show winks, but one of those, _you got this, I believe in you_, kind of winks. And he's right, I do have this. I summon my confidence, block out Jake's annoying chatter and focus on the brief instruction I just received from Dr. Cullen. I want to hit the target, I want to show Jake that I can take him down and I don't appreciate him mocking me for being a girl.

I rear my arm back, holding it like Dr. Cullen showed me, and I launch the ball towards the target. I am so proud as I watch it throttle towards the small bull's-eye but realize about three quarters of the way there it's going to veer right.

"Hey Doc, maybe you should check my girl's eyes before you give her throwing tips," Jake's insult now rings clear.

"She'll work it out Jake," Jake is warned, but I have it pictured more that Dr. Cullen is defending me. He puts his hand on my back very gently nudging me forward to take another ball and before removing his fingertips, he drags his thumb down between my shoulder blades and effectively sending all sorts of shivers throughout my torso, across my hip bones, over my thighs, tickling down to my instep. His touch is an unknown power against my body.

I take the ball off the table and pick it up, turning it around in my hand while I eye the target. I can do this. This is beneficial in two ways: one, I knock Jake off his perch, literally and figuratively; and two, I show Dr. Cullen that I'm a bad ass. Point number two is the most tantalizing.

I put myself in position like Dr. Cullen had, knees slightly bent, shoulders squared, body at a slight angle; I set the target in my sites onto that latch release. I narrow my eyes at it like it was my enemy. I take a deep breath and look back behind me like I was a legendary pitcher on the mound during a seventh game of the World Series. I have the Chariots of Fire instrumental playing as my background music.

"Jesus, Bella, no one's trying to steal 2nd base from you, throw the stupid ball," Jake yells at me, effectively interrupting my epic moment, I let the ball loose and miss it completely. Without getting angry at Jake for being a general ass I grab the third ball and set myself again, my thoughts not focused on anything and everything creating a mental white noise, I let that ball hurl through the air, Jake was too busy looking at Mrs. Stanley's swinging ass to pay attention to the impending force of my ball and to the letting go of his perch.

Dr. Cullen had moved beside me and watched with me as the ball hit the bull's-eye and we both watch as Jake swallowed a mouthful water. God, what a beautiful sight, Jake shut up by the force of my throw and a mouthful of urine infused water.

"Good job Bella," Dr. Cullen said while we continue to watch Jake splutter around in the three feet of water, Dr. Cullen reaches over and pats me on my back.

A crowd has now gathered to see Jake look ridiculous.

Dr. Cullen speaks so only I can hear, he does not turn to look at me though.

"You want to take a drive, meet me so we can go for a walk?" Say what?

And without thinking about Jake or about Dr. Cullen's wife, my parents or saints and sinners, I answer like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"Yes, where?" And just like that, I become Bad Ass Bella. He quietly tells me to take the 101 to 29 and meet him where the road becomes unpaved. I surreptitiously watch him leave while Jake recovers himself from being dunked. I tell him I have to go finish an essay for my English class. Jake shakes his head to the side to remove some water.

"Hey, Bells," I turn as Jake is taking a gym towel and drying his face.

"Yeah, Jake," I say, trying not to sound worn down by our relationship. He's a decent guy, I know he cares for me deeply, he just is young and immature, with Jake it's always, "_After me, you come first_."

"That was a good throw, babe, nailed my ass," and he gives me an adorable wink; his flawless brown skin, near black eyes and maroon colored lips all making up a beautiful young man. I remember our first kiss when I was twelve and a half and Jake was eleven and a half, he worshipped me, to the point of embarrassment really. He would make every excuse to get his father, Billy, to drive over to our house or to have Charlie bring me to the res, he was different and pretty and so very sweet, always wanting to touch me and tell me things and show me stuff. It wasn't until he became the starting quarterback on the football team did he change and start to believe all the press about him. I knew there were other girls, from the res and other schools, but I had never cheated, I never cared that much. At some point I knew Jake would always be there for me in some capacity and I was okay with that, but now, as I was leaving to meet Dr. Cullen to do, what, I do not know, I have to wonder if I will always be there for Jake in some capacity.

"Maybe that'll teach you not to run your mouth so much, big guy," I say back to him, giving him a frownie smile.

He lets loose me his dazzlingly bright smile made all that more glorious against his warm skin, one part of me inside melts and another part beats myself up for what I think I'm about to do with someone who is not Jake.

"I'll call you later," I say to Jake. I think I'll go meet Dr. Cullen and tell him I can't do anything, I can't take advantage of Jake even if he does of me.

"Yeah, don't, I'm hanging with Seth and Sam, we're going to a party on the res," he says and doesn't even bother to ask me if I want to go with him. I stand there while he dries his ear, waiting for him to offer an invitation. He moves to dry his other ear and I realize the thought has not even crossed his mind and instead of telling him it would be nice to be asked to go with him I realize I have a doctor waiting to explore some wicked things with me, if I'm lucky.

"'Bye, Jake," I walk past him and he takes the opportunity to be possessive and a dick in one fell swoop, he slaps my ass like I'm a piece of prime beef. He doesn't do it for my benefit, he does it to look manly.

"Check ya later."

Whatever, I don't have the energy to process Jake so I put my history with him back in the place in my mind where I don't think about things. I walk to my car and head out to the 101.

x

I pull up behind Dr. Cullen's truck. I have come to notice he has several cars, mostly though he drives this Chevy Tahoe, I guess he thinks it looks more acceptable in this small town, the kind of vehicle that can get him to the odd house call in rainy weather.

The drive over I didn't think of anything other than the shifting of gears or the actual English essay I have to finish this weekend. I didn't think about what I was doing going to meet Dr. Cullen on some secluded trail, I didn't think about what my father would do if he found out what I was doing, I didn't think about Dr. Cullen's wife, I didn't think about what would happen in town if the gossip patrol got hold of this. And I definitely didn't wonder if Dr. Cullen knows how much this town talks.

I get out of my truck, sort of sliding off the seat until my feet touch the ground. With my hand on the armrest of the open door I close my eyes and take a deep breath and then just stand there trying to make sense of what I'm thinking I'm about to do.

Will Dr. Cullen be gentle and sweet? Will he be rough and dangerous? Will he have a small dick or a thick one or a long one? Will he kiss me? Is this even why I'm here? Maybe he wants privacy so he can tell me to stop making googly eyes at him.

Time to put up or shut up. That last thought has filled me with apprehension, what if I have imagined everything with Dr. Cullen. What if he always takes people's blood like he took mine, I just raised it to some freaky heated level wanting him to touch me and to lick me and to bite me? I step away from my truck and slam the door, but since it's so old the only thing that is loud and resounding is the deafening squeak of the hinge. I look over to Dr. Cullen's SUV and see him getting out and walking towards me, he's giving an absentminded and breathy whistle, the small circle his lips have formed is slightly too large for a proper whistle so it sounds like he's walking through a blowy wind, I go and stand in front of my truck and try to quell my loud and nervous breathing.

"Dr. Cullen," I say a little quieter than I normally would, my heart pulsing with a tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat like I'm going to turn the beat around kind of rhythm which is almost concerning.

"Isabella, or is it Bella today?" He questions me in that caramel coating of my name way that he has. I look at him with uncertainty.

I don't say anything for an overlong amount of time. Dr. Cullen has come up beside me and leans up next to me propping his elbows behind him on my truck's hood.

"Well, which is it?" Dr. Cullen asks me, each of us turning towards one another, him looking with definite amusement and easy expectation, seemingly waiting for me to answer a question that has nothing to do with my name.

I look at him, my eyes trying to find some sort of truth to guide me, to reassure me that he IS flirting with me and that this IS a precipice to something else.

Looking him dead in the eye and spoke just above a whisper, I answer, "Bella," drawing out my name so that I left no doubt of what I wanted. Dr. Cullen briefly raised his eyebrows and slowly licked his dark red lips. Fuck me if this guy shouldn't be banned as an illegal substance cause he makes me feel high as a kite.

"Mmm, Bella," he says it like he's testing it out, trying it on for size. "Tell me, Bella," he continues to say my name in just that way, "are you gonna be bad?"

And while that was probably a fairly cheesy line, I am so lost in the moment that I don't even contemplate that fact.

"Yes," my answer is resolute. Then I think about it for a moment and add, "Are you?" And that took him by surprise, a slow smile curving up the side of his mouth. If I were smart I would wonder if I'm in over my head.

"Well, my Bella," he takes the tip of his fingertip and brings it up to _that_ spot behind my ear that I am nearly certain is connected to my girly bits, and he drags his finger down, along my jaw line, to under my chin, down my neck and throat, gently pausing to rest his digit at that dip above my chest then proceeds to continue drawing it down my sternum and stops level with my nipples that are aching by this touch. If I weren't panting and staring into his now stormy blue eyes I would be embarrassed by their overly enthusiastic appearance, I can feel them _straining_ against the satin of my bra, there's no hiding them.

Dr. Cullen looks down at my chest and that smile is back, he doesn't look back at me but continues to drag that torturous fingertip down, down, down to the hem of my shirt. Now he brings his eyes up to mine and slightly cocks his head to the side and raises his eyebrows while running his tongue along his top teeth.

"Bella?" He is asking me permission, his voice commanding, teasing, and seductive all wrapped up in a smooth baritone. I am a ball of nervousness and wet, and my eyes still filled with all sorts of want.

"Yes?" I whisper out, afraid to break the connection between us.

"May I?" Dr. Cullen asks while lightly rubbing my skin underneath my shirt, above my shorts. His eyes are alight with naughtiness.

"Yes," I say in the same whisper but with way more conviction. Yes, yes, yes, I fucking want this.

"Good," he says and agonizingly slowly, he brings his hand, palm side down, up to my breast. When he gets to my bra cup he doesn't pull it down violently like Jake always does, greedy to cop that first feel, no, Dr. Cullen gently yet purposefully slides his hand in before pushing away the fabric. I am practically arching my back for him to grab me harder, to touch my nipple anything to quell the fire that has been lit across my entire body. In short, I want to mount his leg and get myself off.

"Do you like this, Bella?" He moves his eyes from my gaze to look at my lips, I swallow thickly and take a quick intake of air when he starts to pinch my nipple so deliciously that I am nearly writhing in want. All this reaction from one hand on my body.

"Yes," I say desperately. Dr. Cullen looks at me, that same naughty smile curling up he sides of his mouth.

"Is this enough for you?" He asks me more questions when it's clear by my now arching back (I have lost most of my self control) that I need more, not just want, need. And maybe it's the fact that the past year was spent aching over this man that is making my body react this way, but I have to do something to move this along.

"No," I nearly whine out like a spoiled little girl. Then I surprise us both and take his free hand and bring it between my legs, at the very least knowing he can feel the heat that he has caused.

"Uh, uh, uh, Bella, I'm not going to fuck you in the middle of a park path," he says with mock admonishment, he removes his hand from between my legs and then moves the satin back over my breast, but in one more tease he runs his fingers over my still wanting nipple.

I pull back and pout. Carlisle lets out a little chuckle at my childishness.

"Bella, I think it's about time you stopped calling me Dr. Cullen when we're together," he said with a certain amount of seriousness, but I was tired of him toying with me.

"Well, Carlisle," I emphasized his name, "if you aren't going to fuck me in the middle of a park path, when and where are you going to fuck me?"

* * *

**A/N** Yeah, I know you were expecting me to smut it up this chapter, no worries, we'll get there. Thanks for the reviews, I was fill-in-the-expletive-here in replying to most of them but they are awesome. I'll most likely stop being such a tease next chapter. Reviews validate my fan fiction existence.


	4. Chapter 4

Well, I have delayed posting this because FFn is being a total bitch, but I'm tired of having this in the hopper so here goes, hopefully this chap won't disappear from time to time, I do exist, contrary to FFn's sporadic claims that I don't.

I think I smutted it up this chap, I get tired of teasing.

* * *

_"Bella, I think it's about time you stopped calling me Dr. Cullen when we're together," he said with a certain amount of seriousness, but I was tired of him toying with me._

_"Well, Carlisle," I emphasized his name, "if you aren't going to fuck me in the middle of a park path, when and where are you going to fuck me?"_

Chapter Four

I stood there looking at him, waiting for him to make the next move. He looked at me and said nothing. Nothing for what seemed like six lifetimes and four and a half forevers. Then he brought his fingertips to the side of my face and stroked down from my temple to the edge of my jaw.

"A beautiful woman like you doesn't need to say such a vulgar word to get a man into her bed," and before I could be embarrassed by my lack of well-bred mannerisms and proper comportment, he lightly took my chin and leaned his face in, moving past my waiting lips and whispered in my ear, "but it's pretty hot nonetheless."

I let out a slow exhale of air. Still leaning into me he whispered again in my ear like we were conspiring to cheat on a math test – only this was way more dangerous.

"Come back to my house. I want to take you somewhere."

It all sounded so right coming from his mouth. God, and where the somewheres he could take left me with a feeling of desperate decadence.

And then a funny little thing happened, that voice we all have in the background, or the angel and devil that sits on either shoulder or the voice of your mother, whatever it is, I had it in spades all of a sudden. God, this all sounded so wrong regardless of how desperately I wanted him and every part of him. He is married. I could not, in good conscience, have Carlisle cheat on his wife; Jake was another story, we weren't married, but Carlisle is married and this little wonderland I was currently partaking in would be horrible tomorrow morning waking up with guilt being my forever bedmate.

Then he kissed that magical spot just below my ear. My shoulders drooped and my nipples started to react and my eyes closed, momentarily transported to that Utopian place of continuous orgasms and no STDs or pregnancies. How my body so quickly responds to this man is amazing. And those dark red his lips of his were so soft.

"Carlisle," I breathed out like a shameless little trollop.

"Let's go," he said, pulling away from me, moving an errant piece of my hair back behind my ear, his fingertips once again tracing down to the column of my neck.

"Wait," I pull back from him. Like my body already knows but my brain is slow to catch up, he should be classified as an illegal substance because I am done taking little party bumps of him, I want to full on mainline him but I contain my jones and ask the question that needs to be asked. "What about your wife?"

He takes a deep breath and lets it out and moves his hands back to his side, fixing me with his gaze. Fuck, why do I have to have a stupid voice of reason? God, here I am, the past year panting for this guy to shatter my monotonous universe and I have to go and ask him a question regarding right and wrong. Quick, someone give me something sharp so I can fucking stab myself in the eyes so I don't have to look at my stupid face again.

"Bella, you don't need to worry about it," he tells me with thinly veiled exasperation.

But I had to be true to myself.

"Of course one would say something like that," I said as stiffly and formally as I could muster given my want to peel out of my clothes and show him the things he does to my body.

He continues to gaze at me, I guess to come up with some sort of believable lie perhaps, but maybe, if I were to give him some sliver of a benefit of the doubt, I might almost think he was trying to work something out.

"Bella, first off, this isn't your concern, but since this _issue_ is something bothering you, I'm telling you, Esme and I," he paused to select a word, _le mot juste_, "we have understandings."

I really have no basis of a good relationship, I mean my parents are divorced, I've been in a sometimes fun, but mostly pointless relationship with Jake for the past year and a half, the only semblance of a good relationship I know about is Rose and Emmett, but they're stoned most of the time so I don't know how much stuff they really notice about each other. But looking at Carlisle, he's meeting my eyes, he's not fidgeting, isn't chewing on his lip or changing the subject, all the things Jake does when he's trying to lie about something.

"Alright, I'll take your word," I assent while he continues to look at me placidly but the hint of a smile present in his blue eyes. Even with my very limited history with him, I could tell he was pleased.

"Good." And that was that.

I let him get a head start to his house, my truck was well enough known in the community that it would look odd me following directly behind him, so I left about 10 minutes later.

On the way over I try to remember what set of bra and panties I was wearing. At a stop sign I peek a look down my blouse and see it's that decent set Rose got me for my first time with Jake. Coral colored lace. Not bad, a little worn being a year and a half old, but still looked decent and complemented my brown hair, or so Rose had me believe when she gave it to me.

Was I nervous? Maybe a little. I mean, what if Dr. Cullen turns out to be a total asshole and prey on young women? What if this is just a, _I wanna fuck an 18 year old pussy_ kind of thing? What if he wears Ed Hardy boxer briefs – and leave no doubt, that's a deal breaker.

I shake these thoughts out of my head, there is no sense over-thinking this, I am going to go fuck, for lack of a better word, Dr. Cullen who now wants me to call him Carlisle.

So instead of focusing on questions I couldn't answer, I focus my thoughts on our brief encounters, and the way those encounters burned through my blood like a match through dry brush. I thought about the way Dr. Cullen had caressed the inside of my arm and brushed the side of my breast, the way he bit his very red lips, the way his tongue looked licking those same lips in some sort of restraint; all of those scenes from when he drew my blood playing through my mind's eye. I thought about how recalling his low slung board shorts and stormy blue eyes locked to mine brought me my shuddering climaxes and make it so I'm too embarrassed to look at him for days after, fearing that he would see he's the fuel to my fire. And I thought about his hands on me this afternoon, seemingly innocent to the passerby but to me they were one final scene before the grand finale of our tango from the past year. I hadn't been imagining it all, or even if I had, Dr. Cullen finally acknowledged that he wanted this too. I gripped the steering wheel too tightly and gently rocked back and forth before catching myself and stilling. I'll save this charge of vitality for a different expelling of energies.

I pull through his storybook drive and park my truck in the garage near to the house. Carlisle's SUV parked in front of one of the other garage doors, he is sitting on the front porch as I approach him. Again, this man looks like a magazine cover portraying ease of style and grace. And I've never appreciated the Beastie Boys and their concert tees so much until now.

Given that the _Cullen Compound_ is highly secluded and remote from the road and really, the rest of the outside world, Carlisle comes over and bends down, again moving my hair off of my face and kisses me in that same spot below my ear, and as necessitated by my racing brain, I suck in air and feel my hands draw up underneath his tee. God, he feels so good. Muscles like Jake but his sinew is covered with a fine hair and is not tacky with near dry sweat. Perhaps it's just the newness of the feel of another man, but at this point I was happy to take the surface of it without any baggage attached.

"Hi," I say. I'm not being terribly clever at the moment.

"Hi," he says after he has looked at me, his eyes slowly taking in my slightly lanky form, probably seeing my nipples harden at the mere thought of being near him; me touching him will most likely cause me to combust.

"Where's Esme?" Fuck, I have a fat mouth, why did I just ask that question?

Again, he put me at ease with a chuckle.

"She's back East visiting some college friends. Enough of that, I want to show you something."

He takes my elbow, much like he did that Sunday a year before, and the action causes me to realize I've found another part of my body that is hardwired to my lady bit center. We walk away from his house and along the river for several minutes. To say it's beautiful here is not doing it justice, the beauty is magnificent. The wide river lazily streaming, the cool of the canopy of trees, the tints and shades of an eight crayon box of Crayolas, it's all astounding, I've never found these surroundings fresh and beautiful until now.

"It's like this is an actual postcard," I say quietly.

"Yeah," Carlisle is nodding his head looking around like it's new to him too. "It really is special, I'm one lucky fucker, that's for certain." He says all this with his standard casual ease but with a hint of earnestness filling in the edges. I can tell he's awed by our town's little corner of prettiness. Then, he takes his hand from gently touching my elbow and moves it over to my spine and slowly guides his hand down to rest on the top of my ass. God, nearly a casual gesture and I am ready to push him against a tree and have _my_ wicked way with him. Huh, maybe I could.

"Here, it's just up there, about a hundred feet or so."

I have been so busy trying to keep my thoughts focused on things like baseball stats and fetal pigs from Biology class so I don't just pant and touch myself in a desperate attempt to quench the aching fires being stoked by the lovely Dr. Hand On My Ass, that I haven't noticed what he's looking towards. Finally, I follow his two fingered point (such good manners that he does not point outright,) to a stone home. I stop and just stare at it. It's like a gnomes made it or those seven dwarves from that fairy tale.

It's all stone with two chimneys coming up from it at either end and it has a cedar roof and a dark pea gravel path leading up to is. There are prehistoric looking ferns vaguely surrounding the place and the tinkling of the river sounds in the background. I realize I am holding my breath and let out a streaming exhale.

"Carlisle, this is – wow." I was consciously at a loss for words. "Did you build this?" It looks old but I can't be certain. I want to run in there and light a fire and curl up with a dusty copy of _Howard's End_ or something.

"Yeah, some of it, here, let's go inside." It was interesting how he is always so casual of his manual labor, like working on cars and now the building or restoration of this house. I wonder what other manual dexterities he has.

He guides me up the path, his hand now on the small of my back. The paneled oak door has oxidized forged steel hinges and nails, the effect looks straight out of a Scottish castle, the only thing missing was a creaking sound when Carlisle opened it.

It's cool and slightly damp when I walk in, looking down, the floor is slate, there's a fireplace tucked in the corner, the surround being the same stones as the rest of the house, and a slate hearth, a stack of logs are next to it.

"This was on the property when we moved here, I spent about a year and a half restoring what I could and building what I wanted," he says self-effacingly, then he looks at me and levels me with one smoldering and slightly foretelling look.

I am torn between waiting for him to take the lead and wanting to physically express that dark desires I have for him

"Take a look around while I build a fire," Carlisle invites of me.

This forest hideaway isn't very big, there's a small, utilitarian yet still swanky kitchen off of the living room slash study. The Cullen's didn't appear to do anything on the cheap. Walking back into the living room I take notice of the Arts and Crafts style furniture and more of those worn, yet still expensive looking Persian rugs.

"What's through these doors?" I ask, looking at a set of frosted glass pocket doors.

"The bedroom," Carlisle answers, turning to me, the fire seeming to have caught.

Oh! My nervousness was back, or is it excitement?

He walks to me, his eyes fixed to mine, his tongue lazily passing back and forth over his top row of teeth. The air in the room suddenly is very warm, and I can hear my breathing pick up.

"Do you want to see it?" Carlisle asked me quietly and seductively once he approaches me.

I quickly scan his eyes, I don't know what I was looking for but all I saw was hunger and – need?

After my brief hesitation, I answer with intent and purpose, "Yes, I want to see it."

He slides the doors open and reveals the Shangri-La of bedrooms. The entire back wall is glass, with sliding doors that go out to a short stone walled patio which look out to a pristine view of the Bogachiel River, no doubt enjoyed while lounging on the obvious high end teak furniture.

I walk tentatively inside the room, looking around, it is fairly sparse. A pale wood, low platform bed, matching side tables, the duvet an orange poppy color, which contrasts with the pale green walls, it's all very Danish Modern. I wonder if Esme chose the colors as they were so similar to their home. The thought is not pleasant but understood, they were married after all, of course she had input into his life – whatever their _understandings_ were. Brushing the thought out of my consciousness, I take in the rest of the scenery, the bed looks to the outside and to a wide part of the river, the Olympic Mountains visible in the distance.

"What do you think," Carlisle asks from behind me, leaning in to say it in my ear, his fingertips trailing up and down my arms. My heart skipping every few beats it is racing so quickly. I close my eyes and take a moment to enjoy the feeling of him touching me.

"I think it's stunning," I answer but my eyes are still closed. I wonder if he's just trying to put me at ease or if he's always this thoughtful.

"Mmm, that's good," he says while tattooing my neck with small kisses. I surreptitiously try and clench my sex and rock back and forth feeling the dampness of my arousal but stop, not wanting to give the impression that I was a complete sexual uncouth. Instead I picture what the color of his dark red lips must look like contrasting against my pale white skin. Yeah, doing that just opened up the floodgates.

And then he moves away, my eyes fly open and I most certainly have a look of anxiety that he will walk away from me and leave me a puddle of want.

But there he is. He sits in a chair in the corner with the glass wall next to him. Bending down, he starts to untie his shoes, I stand there most definitely questioning what his next play is.

I walk over and sit on the edge of the bed, not in front of him, more on the corner so I'm diagonal to Carlisle. I am stiff and suddenly uncomfortable, afraid that Dr. Cullen would tell me this was not what he wanted to do and would I kindly leave. The only positive takeaway I saw from that happening was I would at least have a few more things to add to my masturbation mind movies, the neck kisses surely being a climaxing recall.

"Bella," Dr. Cullen speaks, if at all possible, I sit up straighter trying to retain some scrap of dignity, if Dr. Cullen notices my discomfort he does not say anything to put me at ease or to dismiss it or me. "I want you to," oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, here it comes, "undress for me."

My gaze which had been focused in looking at a piece of wall behind him, snaps to his. His jaw is relaxed but his intent is clear, he wants me to do this, no questions of why or what should spill from my lips, this is a test. I feel my mouth trying to form some sort of protest, that's what a good girl would do, but then again, a good girl wouldn't have put herself in the situation I had. And for the record, I willingly put myself in this situation.

I sit looking at him, having relaxed minutely. I wasn't just looking at him, I was assessing him, wondering if this is something he needs or just something he wants, am I just erotic amusement for the moment? And what if we never hook up again, then I look like a double trollop. But then again, fucking a 35 year old guy, who's your boss and married doesn't leave much wiggle room when it comes to maintaining a good name and a semblance of virtue.

And then I remembered back to just an hour or so earlier. I had propositioned him. I asked him when and where he was going to fuck me. Giving him one last look I stand up and walk to be in front of him. He doesn't move or sit up or do anything that would make it seem like he was surprised, he just tips his head to the side and lets a small smile creep up along the edges of those dark red lips.

I bring my hands down the front of my blouse, a white linen short sleeve number that had eyelets running up and down the front of it and tiny little buttons down the center. Something else Rose picked up for me apparently thinking I am clothing illiterate or something.

I look down to the v-neck of the start of the buttons and bring my fingers there, resting them before I take on one of the most exciting and dangerous steps of my 18 years of life.

"Sometimes, at night, after everyone has gone to sleep, and it's dark outside," I start speaking and release the first button, "I listen to the sound of the gentle rain lulling everyone but me into slumber." I release the next button, the shirt open now a few inches below my breasts. "I slip my pajama top open and run my hands up my stomach, along my ribs, and fan them out over my breasts and grip them," I pop another button and slowly raise my eyes and chin to take a look at the good doctor.

All the amusement was now gone, his attention rapt. I have captivated him. It is enough to spur me on, the heat definitely building.

"But I soon realize," I pop the fourth button, "that this isn't enough, that I want more." I divert my hand and run it up my sternum and grip my neck just underneath my jaw line while tipping my head back, I think I hear Carlisle's breathing increase. Moving my hands back to my blouse I release the second to last button. "I need to feel more," and with that, I take my index and thumb over to a now very hard nipple and give it a very hard pinch resulting in my sharp intake of air, my head falling back again, relishing the pleasurable pain.

"After I've teased myself enough," I undo the last button and move my shoulders back and relax my arms so my blouse slides down, I let if fall to the floor. "I know I need more, more, more because I'm thinking about you and how my body reacts to thoughts of you," this time, it's me who tips her head to the side and look at him and am rewarded with a naughty little smile, I give him one back.

Now part of me should feel degraded that I am essentially performing for a man, an older man, and that he told me to do so, but here's the funny thing, it's making me hot. I mean, I could have been fucking Jake, touching myself and reading erotica all at the same time and it wouldn't come close to the feeling of empowerment and sensuality and _control_ I feel at this moment. It is almost dizzying and I wonder what I will do with this new found knowledge.

"So that's when I glide my hand down my body and sneak it under my pajama bottoms," I undo the button on my Levi cutoffs and pull down the zipper, leaving my hand in that position, "and I think about you."

And with that admission I push my shorts down and Carlisle is up in an instant to take my hand while I step out of them. Even with a complete hard on, his manners are impeccable, add it to the list of Carlisle Cullen things that make me hot.

Carlisle turns so we were facing one another very closely. I can see the black of his pupils, just a thin line of the blue circling the outside of them. The weather has turned making the room soft and grey with an impending storm, but the air between us was very warm.

"That's what you do?" Carlisle asks quietly, playing along, while he takes the tip of his finger and traces it along the top of my bra cups looking at my breasts. His touch continues to make every part of my body react, my nipples, my neck, my toes, my clit, everything responding and tingly.

There is no mistaking it, I have awoken my inner tart. I lean in and up on my tippy toes and whisper in his ear, "I can't look at you for days after because I think you'll know that you're my," I briefly pause here for effect, "_stimulation_." I bring my hands up underneath his shirt and feel his muscles tense.

"Mmm, is that right?" Carlisle says while he walks me backwards to the side of the bed. I expect him to have me get on the bed, but he keeps his hands on my hips.

"Yes, that's right," my answer is strained with infinite want.

"Tell me, Bella," my names rolls off his tongue in caramel drops, "do you want me to leave my clothes on while I look at you?" He's asking me, that confident Golden Boy glint in his eyes.

This snaps me back to the here and now. Jake always pulls his clothes off and throws them on the floor or in the back of the truck or on top of his jacked up, up on blocks VW Rabbit.

"You want your clothes taken off, Carlisle," and now my inner tart came to quicker than I. I lick his name deliciously.

"Well, I think we are both living out some _stimulations_ of ours, wouldn't you say?" While not entirely in the correct manner, Carlisle volleys my word back at me.

I again place my hands underneath his shirt and slowly bring them up, then lightly scratching my fingernails back down, I start to lift up at the hem of his tee, he helps me by pulling it off. My memory of Carlisle's chest has not done him justice. Leaning forward I place two slightly wet kisses on each of his nipples, I'll see if Carlisle responds since Jake so clearly did not. Carlisle's first little Bella test is passed, he takes his hand down my back and gives my right ass cheek a squeeze. I stand up straight, looking into his fervid eyes, reach down to undo the fasten on his pants, which are delightfully soft, no wonder he likes to wear them. I bend pulling them down and leave his thankfully, short black boxer briefs on, Carlisle steps out of them taking my hand to pull me back up, he bends and picks them up and tosses them to the edge of the bed.

Without saying anything, Carlisle unhooks my bra with practiced perfection. Oh the glories of an experienced man. Instead of looking at my boobs he looks me in the eyes and leans in for our first kiss.

His perfection of dark red lips gently kiss my eyes, my cheeks, moves to behind my ears and I lean in and press my chest to his, he gently thrusts his erection to me and I feel my nipples harden even more against his chest. He finally brings his lips to mine, his tongue entering my mouth with understanding that it's what we both want. His languorous kissing makes me more desperate and I grab his hair in my hands and he lets out a small grunt in manly pleasure.

Taking my hand I drag it down his body to his hard erection and rub up and down the tented cotton fabric.

"What are you gonna do, Carlisle?" I all but pant out.

He doesn't answer but takes his hands and places them on the side of my panties on either of my hips and hooks his thumbs and moves them down to my thighs. Then he drops to his knees to remove them fully.

"Jesus," he breaths out, seeing my naked and my very bare sex exposed. He stands, taking my hips and guides me down to the bed, I swing my legs over and position myself in the center.

"You're bare," he says, joining me on the bed, stuck between wanting to be between my legs or staying to my side.

This is embarrassing. I throw my arm over my eyes.

"It wasn't my doing," I offer in weak explanation. I can't bear to look at him but he pushes my arm away and turns my head to face him.

"What, you woke up one morning, waxed?" I know he's teasing me, trying to make me relax but it's not working. He continues on. "Tell me the story."

"My stupid boyfriend gave us massages at a spa in Seattle for my birthday. I thought he was finally doing something he thought I would want, but after we had our treatments he tells me he got me something else. I'm thinking it's a facial or something but as it turns out it was a full Brazilian." I was livid when Jake did this. It's one thing to do it for your man, but it's an entirely different take when your boyfriend essentially makes you do it. Thinking about that day it gives me a certain type of fuck you to Jake, so I continue to tell Carlisle about what an asshole Jake is. "I figured getting waxed he would at least, you know, pleasure me," and before I could stop my verbal embarrassment I blurt out, "you know, _orally_."

"Mmm, sounds like that was a no go," Carlisle observes astutely.

"No, as per usual, left wanting," I add dryly. I don't like this chatting but don't know how to move past it.

Carlisle doesn't speak for a moment or two, I'm all but wanting to crawl under the covers to shield myself from his gaze. "But tell me, Bella, didn't it make you feel sexy?" Carlisle has moved, he moves my legs so I am nearly spread eagle on the bed and he is between them on slightly widened knees.

"I, I, I guess," I stammer out. The sight of him between my legs makes me lose most of my cognitive function.

"The feel of pulling your silky panties on, it resting on your bare skin," he takes a finger and drags it from my very wet opening, up to my clit and circles around it, so close, teasing me, I rock back and forth wanting more touching. "Didn't that feel, naughty?" He asks me and brings that fingertip down again and slowly slips it into me and starts swirling and pumping, soon he adds another finger. "And when everyone had gone to sleep, and you heard the gentle rain fall on the roof and you brought your hand underneath your pajamas to touch yourself, didn't that feel good? Didn't you enjoy having your fingertips dance down to your swollen lips, then back up all that soft bareness, down a little bit to touch your wetness, then to circle and rub your clit with it?"

"Yes," my trollop mouth breaths out. I start touching my breasts.

"And while you replayed images in your mind while you circled your clit and fingered your pussy, did you wonder if I would find you beautiful?" Carlisle wastes no time, removing his fingers he bends forward and kisses my sensitive nub. Not being able to stop myself, I grab his hair wanting to hold him there, but he moves down and licks me, fully. Yet again, I inhale sharply. This is something Jake has only done a few times and it was usually under duress, this, this feeling is the birth of the universe and the rise of the sun and the crashing of waves and the glory of the crack of lightening striking.

And I want more.

"Yes, yes I wondered if you would find it beautiful. And I wondered if you would ever touch me and if it would feel good," I confess shamelessly while he continues to tortuously lick me. I don't know if this is heaven or if this is hell because I don't know if I want him to keep impaling me with his tongue and taste my arousal or if I want him to shed his boxers and enter me and push me over the edge. And I know he can.

I remove my grasping hands from my breasts and spread them out on the duvet gripping it for all it's worth. His tongue has focused its intent on my clit while he has returned to finger me as well. Then he stops while my chest heaves laboriously.

He's moved up to my face and sticks his finger in my mouth, I lick it while tasting what he's done to me. In his orbit, I am delicious. He removes it then moves so he's leaning over me, hands on either side of me.

"Tell me," Carlisle says, speaking against my lips, I lick and can taste myself some more. "Does it feel good?" And he comes in for the kill of kisses, our tongues furiously tangling with each other's, me desperate to taste myself through his mouth's actions. I bring my hands from his hair and start to push his boxers down before he hops off the bed momentarily and kicks them off. He goes into the nightstand drawer and I hear the rip of a condom package all while I continue where he left off, fingering myself, I turn to look at him and he is watching me touch myself, I think I groan in the hotness of it all.

"Jesus, Bella, I could watch you fuck yourself all day," he says like he's momentarily lost in the flurry that is me.

But my hand is no substitute for what I am seeing before me. He truly is the beautiful one, his erection long and completely perpendicular from his body. All thoughts of Jake's slightly left slanting, crooked dick forgotten with this Adonis perfection so close to me.

"Please," I beg, "I want to watch you fucking me." I don't care if I sound trashy or low class because I am truly wanton at the moment, and I don't know if I'll ever have this chance again so I want to make this count.

Carlisle gets on the bed and lines himself up to my wildest, desperate dreams. He teases the tip in and already I am practically scooting forward to take more before Carlisle's hand comes to rest on my belly, silently telling me to let him lead. I bite my lip in equal parts frustration, want and to stop myself from begging. He moves in some more, still slowly. He watches me while it registers in my brain that I need to wait to adjust to his _girth_, it's slightly uncomfortable.

"Just relax yourself, Bella," he adds, then softly runs his hand up and down the inside of my thigh.

The combination of his reassurance and his touch relax my muscles soon enough, releasing my bottom lip from my teeth I whisper, "More."

Carlisle guiding himself into me and I still once more. The feeling is _full_, I guess, I once again take a moment to acclimate myself to his form. Carlisle waits just barely long enough, and pulls out then pushes back in, repeating this building up speed each time. He reaches forward and starts playing with my nipples making my eyes shut and breathing increase.

"Yes," the harlot that I am, breathes out.

The next thing I know, Carlisle reaches underneath the small of my back and pulls me up. Fuck, this is deep. My legs are bent alongside him, his legs are kind of spread apart. We're facing each other and he presses me against his chest and we start a rhythm of pump and bounce, my breasts rubbing up against him and my nipples remain ever so hard. Carlisle grabs my ass and helps me with leverage and pace. Every once in while when I need to slow it down I squeeze my muscles around Carlisle and he let's me readjust the pace. I had a say, but he was in control.

"Are you close?" Carlisle, ever the gentleman, asks. The bounce pump drive, in and out of me, feeling his length slid inside of me, filling me, so very satisfyingly ravaging me. I was building.

"Just a little more," I answer, thankful that I have spent enough time fucking myself at home to know when I'm coming close to an orgasm.

And without direction or words, Carlisle starts to circle and rub across my clit. I speed up my movements, arch my back, our chests pressed hard against one another, my head drops back and my mouth drops open, heavy breathing and moist sounds filling the room.

"Come on, Bella, feel it all," Carlisle says into my neck. My torso is stationary in an arc for the moment, my mouth still locked open but no sounds coming out, eyes are snapped shut.

Then it starts. The pump bounce is replaced by the pump-pump writhe. I'm swinging my hips intently back and forth. Then I start moaning.

"Yes, more, more, more," I keen, reaching the climax of epic universes. Carlisle keeps pace with me, his large hand holding firmly to the back of my neck.

"You, Carlisle, you do this to me," I somehow manage to grapple this statement of fact out of my mouth. The tipping into sweet oblivion is so within reach.

"God yes, come on Bella," then he clamps down where my neck and shoulder meet and that is the final bit I need, I fall headlong into pure, hedonistic splendor and he starts sucking while gripping me tightly and releases inside of me, my body twitches from aftershock tremors.

He releases his grip around me, laying me on my back so I am splayed out before him like an offering on an alter, right in between the blood of a condor and a bag of rare and precious rubies. I feel him pull out of me and wonder if I'm permanently stretched out.

Carlisle removes the condom and pulls the duvet out from under my supine body and climbs into bed, circling his arm around my waist he pulls me to him so we're spooning. It's not a gesture I was expecting, it's so intimate and I'm not certain how I feel about it.

"I want more of that," he says into my ear and brings his hand up to play with my nipple.

And because I apparently have the memory of a gnat, in my post coital bliss, I lose myself to the moment and shake my ass against his cock. Intimate gesture or not, he's taken me to a place I want to visit again and again.

And for the rest of the day, we do.

* * *

**A/N** There you have it, hopefully that was smutty enough for their first time out. Next chap we'll meet Rose and Emmett, and hear me now, I hate the fact that SM's books make all non-dark haired girls bitches. That's crap.

So as I said before, FFn is being sketchy but reviews and alerts are coming through. You readers have overwhelmed me with the number of clicks my little unknown, unpimped, no posse story has received, and I'm shameless, reviews make me want to explore what makes Carlisle tick, let me know if you want that too.


	5. Chapter 5

I hate that it's taken me so long between posts, I started writing two chapters at once then realized that wasn't working and changed this chapter numerous times, I think this chapter is needed to let us find out a little more about Bella. I'm trying for a Carlisle pov for next chapter.

Last chapter brought some funny and interesting reviews, for the reviewer who said this story could have been called, Dirty Bella, that was my favorite, has brought a smile to face since you posted it! To Zoya Zalan, your kind reply kept things in perspective, thank you.

Also, I went back and read some of the previous chapters and found about a million and 27 errors and slight inconsistencies, I've not sought out a beta, so all of those oversights are mine, my apologies, I try to catch things as best as I can.

Stephenie Meyer's Twilight live in a world of life partners where everyone has French angelfish type relationships.

* * *

Chapter Five

"Oh, God, Carlisle, oh, oh, oh God, yeah, yeah, there, fuck, please, uh, uh, uh, more, oh, yes, there, uh, uh, ohhh." I'm panting and grabbing on the bed sheet, arching my back and curling my toes and I know I look and sound porny, but Carlisle didn't just go down on me, he performs cunnilingus. And his tongue is so masterful and in lovely harmonization to his fingers inside of me that it's all so beautiful and so satisfying and awe-inspiring that it makes me think that if everyone had pleasure at this level then our world would be a blissful and untroubled place.

xx

There had been a time when Jake and I were inseparable. When childhood games were not so distant in the past and Jake was my sun. He was bright, sweet, warm and nourishing, his lightness nurturing to my wan appearance and spirit after I had moved back in with Charlie.

It was natural when we became girlfriend, boyfriend. He said I was the fly to his trout. Despite his off-putting metaphor, I knew he liked being with me and I liked being with him. We were uncomplicated. He was younger than me, but that was okay, we had known each other for so long, we didn't have to go through that slightly awkward and uncomfortable learning process of how to act with someone from the opposite sex, we already knew almost everything about each other. And when we both wanted to be each other's first, it wasn't exciting or desperate or intense, it was just natural.

Our first time wasn't terribly romantic. We had driven down towards the riverbank on a dirt road that lines the edge of the woods. Jake brought a blanket that we spread out in the back of my truck. The ridges of the truck bed hurt like fuck so we laid the blanket out in the woods. The entire time I was on the blanket, I kept picturing some sort of insect, slug, snake or other reptilian creature that was going to latch onto my bare skin and leave me with some horrible bite that I would be forced to go to the Emergency Room and have to explain to the doctor that I was having nature sex with my boyfriend and I was poisoned by some native creative to this lush state of Washington. With these thoughts running through my mind the entire time I could not relax. The act was uncomfortable, painful and unfulfilling. Jake thought it was, "cool." After that, we found our moments; stolen away in his garage, occasionally on the bench set of my truck if Jake wanted it enough to not complain about being cramped, or the best times late at night when Charlie and Billy were out and we would take a blanket down to First Beach and have sex under the stars if it wasn't raining or too cold.

As far as teenage sex went, I imagine, despite what romance stories and urban legends lead us to believe, we were typical, he wasn't as good as sex with myself, he was never quite able to get me off, and if he did, it was usually out of accident and happy coincidence. But what made it so frustrating was Jake didn't make a huge effort to try and understand a woman's body, or at least, my body. I could be partially to blame on that, there's only so many times you can show someone where your clitoris is and explain the fact that the clitoris has no other known purpose other than to serve as stimulation of sexual pleasure. If I were a guy starting out on a sexual journey with a woman, I'm pretty certain I would make every effort to memorize where that little bundle of nerves were located. When I explained this important fact to Jake, I would have thought he would take notice. At least after the eighteenth time I showed and explained. Seemingly, he was never exactly able to recall and pinpoint the location. And when he made it to the Varsity football team and could learn a new passing formation in an afternoon, it became particularly galling that he didn't care to learn even the most basic things about my body.

I became really good at getting myself off. Teenage guys don't have the corner market on masturbation, that's for certain. The afternoons when Charlie was still at work and I finished my afterschool activities early enough that I would have a half an hour or so to myself, I made full use of it.

Sometimes I would find something on the internet to get me going, or I would get lost in my own thoughts, or I would just start rubbing and fingering and relaxing and it would happen. I didn't understand then, when I was with Jake, why it was so difficult to climax. I wondered if something was wrong with me, maybe I liked guys but my body didn't respond to them. That thought concerned out for a while, but then I spoke with Rosalie.

"Rose?"

"Yeah, Bells," Rosalie is trying to construct a pot bowl out of an empty can of Mello Yello. I have to give her credit on her resourcefulness.

I grab a dry leaf from the forest floor; Rose and I came out here after we finished with Yearbook Committee and before her parents returned home from work. I sigh which draws Rose's attention away from stabbing the can with a tiny brad nail.

"When you and Em are _together_," I emphasize the word, Rose gets my tone and focuses back on her can, stabbing the side of it with a sharp stick, making a hole.

"Yeah?"

"Well," I am stalling, I'm too deep into asking this question, and I know Rose won't feel like I'm overstepping my bounds, but I'm still a little apprehensive to bring up my question.

"Just ask it," Rose looks at me with a mischievousness playing in her eyes.

"Does Emmett know how to get you off?"

"Shit, are you kidding me? Fuck, please tell me you'll smoke with me? No pressure, but you need to have something to relax you."

Rose's answer to everything is for me to smoke some weed. The thing that frustrates me is she smokes practically everyday and she gets just as good of grades as I do with probably half the brain cells. I don't know whether to be completely impressed by her double duty working brain or depressed by my lack of natural smarts. Needless to say, I've never smoked with her.

"No, thanks," I absently turn down her offer of smoke.

"Alright," Rose puts down her little narcotic DIY project and takes my hands in hers. "No, Emmett didn't always get me off, it took a lot of tries. But you know, we love each other, we checked our insecurities at the door and were honest with one other. He showed me how he likes my mouth on his junk and I told him I liked it when he grabbed my ass and pinched my nips. It's been fun exploring, you know?"

Rose and Emmett have only dated a little longer than Jake and I, but they waited all of three and a quarter minutes before giving each other their virginity.

I always looked to Rose like she was an older sister who knew all the answers and even if she didn't, she knew enough to hazard an educated guess.

"Listen, my lady love, you have to tell Jake what you like and what you don't like, and I guarantee, once you find the courage to open up to him like that, he'll learn and he'll tell you what he likes, it's a Win Win."

"That's the thing, I know Jake almost better than I know anyone else, and I've told him stuff, but I swear, he doesn't let it sink in. It's so frustrating, I've practically taken a blue Sharpie and circled my clit just so he won't forget where it is. Nothing works, sometimes I think he's missing the reciprocal pleasure part of his brain."

Rose stops and looks at me in question. "Wait, there's a part of the brain for that. That's awesome, can you imagine tapping into that and your lover tapping into yours, fuck, we'd all love all the time and the world would be so beautiful, it would be like everyone on X feeling the love all around," Rose looks heavenward and silently prays to the gods of Hippies, bellbottoms and Haight-Ashbury in thanks for such a glorious discovery. "Fuck, that's awesome."

"Yeah, Rose," I hated to burst her bubble, but I can see the wheels turning in her brain, "I just made that up," I shake my head.

"Oh," she actually sticks out her bottom lip and pouts, "that sucks."

Rose pulls out her keychain and pops open a false back daisy flower and starts plucking out and tearing up buds of the marijuana. She takes out a lighter, covers up the hole on the side, puts her mouth to the drink opening and lights the drug inhaling deeply and holds the smoke in her lungs. Even though I told her I wasn't interested she still offers me a hit, I shake my head and lay back and look up into the tops of the trees. Rose joins me a few minutes later after exhaling her last hit.

"You know, Bella, you have to be honest with yourself and with Jake. I know you two are close, close friends, if you're meant to be together, you'll know, you'll feel it. We have to remember too, Jake's a year younger than you, his frontal lobe is less developed, when he gets hot and bothered he has a hard time remaining focused, and being able to make good decisions and that, is fact," she turned her head and looked at me proudly and pointedly. I know she's impressed with herself for pulling out some actual brain knowledge.

I laughed a little bit. "You're right. I just keep thinking sex has got to be better than what I do to myself."

This time it was Rose who was laughing. This is why I loved this girl, I rarely felt embarrassed once we got into our conversations. On weekends when Charlie had glued his feet to the riverfront, Rose and I would sit for hours at my kitchen table and just talk. I know that secretly she wants to be a nightclub singer in France but she told her parents she wanted to be a meteorologist. I know that her father had made a deal with the Feds for insider trading turning in others and signing an oath that he would never work in banking again and that's why her mom started selling real estate. And I know that Rose and Emmett, both honor roll students, are the ones who defaced our school's sign by painting the tip of a penis showing out from under our Spartan's Greek costume.

"God, Bells, I'm sorry. I wish I could do something." She paused and sat up, I followed suit. She got all bouncy and jittery excited with an idea. "Wait, do you want to have a three-way? I'd do that for you, we can show Jake what gets women off. You know," she shrugged her shoulder, "he would be pretty overwhelmed at first, but we make it like a football clinic or something, it'll sink in that way. Except I don't really want to wear costumes, I'm not really into that, but I won't say, No, either. But no cameras, that's a definite, I don't want to be an internet sensation, 'cause you know, I have parents and all and they would shit an almighty Redwood tree if that was making the loop. But I have to warn you, I'd have to tell Emmett about this three-way, he'll want equal play, so to speak, but he'd be down for it if it'll help you, shit, I know he honestly thinks he can bounce quarters off your ass." Rose had barely taken a breath once that idea got planted.

What the fuck? Shit, Rose is a good friend, but really, that's where her mind goes?

"Rose, my beautiful flower," I tease her, "as it appears that you would do anything for me, I will not ask you to sacrifice your lady to lady virginity for me, I'll let you wait until college before you experience that rite of passage. Besides, it kind of seems like a reward for Jake for being a shitty lover."

She lets out a sigh of relief. "Oh good, I wasn't ready to have to use my tongue that much. But I'd do it for you in a heartbeat if that's what you asked," and even though Rose was high and maybe not being entirely rational, she reaches over and takes my hand and gives it a squeeze and I know I'm lucky, I may not have a lot of friends, but the ones I do are solid.

Fuck, I have to remember to do something nice for Rose, like pay for college or something, she just offered herself up for a ménage à trios to help benefit me.

Then, not long before my 17th birthday, Rose took the unenviable task of letting me know Jake had cheated.

"Bells?" Rose meets up with me in the cafe at lunchtime. She sounds tentative.

"What's wrong?" I ask, suddenly worried that maybe her father was going to be sent to jail or Charlie busted her for buying weed, or something else earth shattering.

"Here, come out back with me," she took my hand while I grabbed my apple and led me out to the forest once again. It was our place to not exactly break school rules but still be away from the building and able to make a quick return.

We took off our jackets and laid them on the ground and sat down facing one another. I could tell Rose was nervous, her silence replacing her normally glib tongue. She reached into her bag and pulled out a pack of Nat Sherman cigarettes that she swipes from her mother. Pulling one out, it's elegant with a gold tip, she looks like she should be sharing onscreen time with the likes of Humphrey Bogart or Orson Welles.

"You want one?" She offers.

"Um, no." My brow is furrowed.

Rose lights hers with a fancy silver lighter, she takes a drag and lets out a long thin stream of smoke.

"Listen, you know I'm not about idle gossip and crap. You know this, right?" Rose is uncomfortable, or afraid. I'm bracing myself for some bad shit.

"Just spill it Rose," I want to get it over with.

"Okay, so Em and I went to Beanie's on Friday to pick up some smoke. He was having a party, I guess, there were a lot of kids from the res there."

Beanie Wyatt is our town's dealer. He usually just has weed, sometimes there's harder stuff, but what he really has is the perfect location. He's on the road between Forks and La Push, sort of a no man's land. He graduated high school a few years ago but never really grew up, his shack of a house has become sort of a hangout.

I've never been there.

"So Em and I are chatting with one of Jake's friend's, I don't remember his name, Quil maybe, anyway, he's all shifty eyed. Well, I don't want to bust him so I play it all cool and stuff and lean against the wall next to that little subterfuge fucker and I follow his gaze."

I close my eyes. This is going to kick me in the gut, I know what she's going to say.

"What did you see?" My words are measured and taste like bile in my mouth.

Rose sighed. I know this is hard for her, she doesn't want to have to be the one to tell, but she's looking out for me, she knows it's best to come from her.

"What was it?" I say, this time with less tenseness, I turn and look at her, my eyes relaxing at the fright showing on her face. I think she's afraid I'm going to be angry with her for telling me this shitty nugget of news.

She looks down to the ground, taking a piece of dead, brown fern.

"He was making out with some girl then took her into the bedroom."

The kick to my gut complete, I get up, walk a few steps and turn my head to vomit.

Jake was my sun, he was the stars at night on First Beach, he was my first and my only. And this hurts.

Rose is up in a flash, pulling my hair back and rubbing my back.

"Come on, let it out," she says soothingly. "I'm so, so sorry. Fuck, I didn't want to tell you, but I didn't want you to hear it from the likes of Jessica or something, you deserve better than that. God, Bells, I am so very sorry."

I stand up and wipe my hand over my mouth and chin. Rose goes over to get her bag and pulls out a wet wipe so I can clean myself up. She's always well prepared; rolling papers, gum, tampons, energy bars or a sewing kit, it's like she has a grandma-type sundry shop in her purse at all times.

After I gather myself I turn to her, she's looking all expectant, not certain what's going to come out of my mouth.

"Who was it?" Who was the girl who betrayed our gender and reduced me to a vomiting angry and soon to be bitter woman?

"I don't know, some res girl, I think."

"Oh." What else could I say?

I know Rose wanted to ask me what I was going to do, it's not like she's above curiosity, but she's intuitive enough to know not to put me on the spot.

"Emmett said he'd kick Jake's ass for you, he'd do it too," Rose says to me quietly.

"Thanks Rose, I'll let you know." We silently gather our jackets from the ground and walk back to school, Rose rubs my back until we make it to the edge of the woods.

Honestly, days later when I thought about what Rose had done in telling me, I realized how hard that must have been. I don't know if I would have been able to tell her if Emmett ever cheated on her, sometimes it's way easier to look the other way and not confront the ugly stuff, this is what I did for myself.

I brooded over Jake's infidelity for weeks. Back and forth I blamed myself; I was boring, I acted too prissy, I was bad in bed, we didn't have enough in common, I should have learned more about football and watched more intently at his games, complimented and encouraged him more. And after that much self-doubt I would round it off with my mom's words, "There's always a reason why someone cheats." That was the perfect enforcement to buttress up my insecurities.

But even after all of this self-doubt, I never confronted Jake. I guess I was afraid he would confirm one or more of my insecurities. So I became immune to his stepping out. It hurt like holy hell, but then, I was the only one to blame.

And Rose never brought it up to me again. If she saw Jake with someone she didn't mention it. Emmett would grumble but otherwise kept it to himself. I'd hear Jessica mention something when she knew I was within earshot, but I played it off as best as I could, I acted like we had an _open_ relationship. It's not like I was ever really at any of the parties my classmates went to, Jake and I went to different schools and if Jake and I hung out we usually drove some place secluded and fucked, we only rarely hung out in public.

Maybe all Jake's not so secret cheating with multiple girls over the past year was on my mind at the Apple Fest when Dr. Cullen came by and under the guise of helping me knock my boyfriend off his perch, I could do nothing to stop myself and jumped at the chance of hopefully dreams and possibilities of something more.

x

I lie in Carlisle's bed looking at the ceiling and reflect back on Jake. This is one of those times the most inopportune thoughts come unbidden. Carlisle is lying on his back with his eyes closed.

"Carlisle, why'd you move to Forks?"

Audibly, he sighs. I wish I could take that question back.

"Isabella," crap, I don't like the sound of that, "do we want to ruin this with pillow talk?"

I wish he would have just reached over and slapped me, that might have stung less.

But then, here's the thing; he's right, I have a boyfriend, he has a wife, I came here on the sole intention of fucking him – or him fucking me, not certain where we landed on that point.

"You're right," I say, noncommittally. "Listen, I need to get going, may I take a shower?" I try and keep my voice firm but light, I couldn't be angry. I stand up and in an act of self preservation and pride, I don't cover up my nudity, really, what was the point, he had cock, mouth and tongue, fingers in and on my entire body, and I had been all over his body, covering up was kind of like closing the gate after the horse's been let out.

Carlisle looks over to me then gets up. "Don't be angry, Bella," he says to me in what seems like some type of warning, caramel though it may be.

"I'm not angry, but my father is the Chief of Police and all, if I'm past curfew he doesn't just worry, he puts out an APB." I've never stayed out past curfew, I don't really know what Charlie would do.

"Well, that puts things in perspective," he says flatly, bending down to put his boxers back on. Such a shame.

"I wasn't saying it as some sort of, I don't know, defense, I was just saying it as a segue that I have to get going," I don't like how the mood has shifted in here.

"Alright," he now sounds like I'm a patient in his office and he is showing me to an exam room.

I take my shower in Carlisle's very masculine bathroom, it's all quartz and mahogany and musk scented bath products, the likes of which I've never heard of, no doubt costing the same amount of money as my grocery expenditures for a week. When I walk out of the bathroom, Carlisle is standing in front of the sliding glass door in the bedroom looking out towards the river. He's put his chinos back on but his shirt remains wadded up on the floor, I can see the red, desperate marks left by my clawing fingernails. I hope he and Esme truly do have, _understandings_.

"Carlisle, I'm gonna get going," I say while I fiddle with pulling my hair into a ponytail. I'm trying for nonchalance, although not certain if I've achieved it.

"Here, I should walk you back, it's dark and that path," he shrugs his shoulder, not exactly looking me in the eyes, "that path had tree roots, it's tricky."

Seemingly, that's not the only path that's tricky.

There're a few things I've learned from Renee's tired little life lesson phrases. The one playing in my mind is, "there's two sides to every story."

Right now I'm only hearing the punch line of my side, it's playing on a loop in my head, it goes something like, "you were a good fuck, and can you leave now?" Yeah, not so catchy but seemingly apt.

We walk out of his stone home, he doesn't lock the door or anything, which I find odd, even in our sleep little burgh. We walk silently to the garage, he opens it for me and I pause before walking in.

"What am I supposed to say here? Thanks?" I think I just came across with sarcasm instead of uncertainty.

Carlisle looks at me hard, his brow set in a furrow, confused at my words. He steps toward me and I stop myself from stepping back. Why, after an afternoon and evening of orifices and hands and tongues and moans and all of the sex sounds and gropes, am I suddenly apprehensive of him?

He takes another step towards me and I'm now frustrated, I hold my ground in some silly, one-sided standoff.

One more step and we are inches from one another, he reaches around and wraps my ponytail around his fist, forcefully, yet gently tipping my head back.

I can't help the gasp that slips out from my mouth and lips.

He just looks at me, with confusion, anger and frustration. Living with my father has made me more than cognizant of the subtleties of facial expressions.

I feel trapped and desired and repelled all at once and it's terribly frustrating.

He continues to look at me for another beat or two before pulling my hair a bit more and bending down to leave me with a light kiss across my lips. He releases me and steps backs.

"I'm sorry," he looks down to the ground then back up to me. "That was improper of me," again he holds my gaze then gestures to send me on my way.

What part was he apologizing for? Everything or grabbing my hair, or his shitty post-fucking mood swing?

"You'll be okay getting home? I could follow you," he offers, his tone is detached.

"No, I'll be fine," and my tone is barely not clipped.

"Alright, then," and he steps back and watches as I pull my truck out, turn around and head back to the highway to get home.

x

Three weeks had passed since my afternoon delight with Carlisle. I was starting to think it was nearly a passing dream of mine. When I would see him at work, he would absently say hello and continue on looking at a chart or go see his next patient.

His coolness didn't stop me from my nighttime activities which involved a now very vivid and accurate picture of his cock, his toned chest and back and his wonderfully deft fingers and tongue. I was a little masochistic like that.

And my masturbation became more frantic too, the images flipped through my mind as the needful actions of my fingers tried to quell the fire and longing I held to have his body joined with mine again.

Jake didn't really help matters, consumed with football, he barely made it over for Sunday night dinners with Billy and Charlie. He caught me in the laundry room while our fathers enjoyed their after dinners beers in front of the flat screen.

When I returned one of his gropes with some of my own, he was surprised.

"Whoa, what's gotten into you?" Jake panted in my ear after he grabbed my boob when my back was turned, I had leaned back and ground my ass as best I could, given our height differences, against his junk. Any port in the storm I guess.

"Jesus Jake, do I need a reason?"

"No, no, yeah, of course not," Jake, ever the linguistic master. "Hey, can I come up to your room tonight?"

Most any other time I would have said no, claiming I had school the next day or I was afraid of Charlie catching us. Jake had climbed up the ill-placed homemade trellis and into my window a few times before. The trellis was a remnant leftover from when Renee wanted to make our family residence homey and country. She planted white clematises there and I'm afraid one day that thing is going to crawl into my bedroom window and strangle me with its multiple vine arms. That being beside the point, Jake had noticed the trellis-like ladder last summer stating that the thing was strong enough to hold him since Charlie had made it out of leftover 4x6 pieces of lumber from when he built the garbage can corral. Jake demonstrated its well-built nature by climbing up a few "rungs," and had climbed into my room on occasion over the summer. Those times I never enjoyed myself, I was afraid of the fact that Charlie and his service revolver were a few mere footsteps down the hallway from my bedroom.

But now, I was a changed woman. I knew I liked sex, and I knew I wanted some, despite the fact it wasn't with the one I wanted it with. Another of Renee's trite sayings rang in my mind, "a bird in hand is worth two in the bush." Well, birds and bushes and crooked cocks aside, I needed to fill my want with a sure thing.

That night, I left my window open and waited for him. Despite Jake's size, he was surprisingly agile, it's one of the things that made him so good on the football field, he climbed in nearly soundlessly and found me waiting for him on my bed. I was in one of my best bra and panty sets, not wanting to waste time.

"Jesus, Bella, what's gotten into you," Jake whispered in slight awe. The light from the moon on this clear night streamed into my windows. I watched as Jake removed his shirt and shoes and kicked off his pants, he wasn't wearing any underwear. Good boy.

I just gestured with my chin for him to get on my bed and I stood there and slowly removed my bra and ran my hands over my breasts before trailing them down to my panties which I pushed down and stepped out of. I heard Jake let out a puff of air. When I walked over to my bed and climbed on to straddle him he whimpered.

"Don't make a sound," I told him, leaning over so my breasts brushed against his chest and whispering it into his ear. He didn't listen and let out a low moan.

I sat up and very abruptly and put my hand over his mouth, I smiled to myself when I saw his eyes widen.

I felt him getting harder as I alternately leaned over and kissed his chest and sat up rubbing my breasts and pinching my nipples. For added measure, I took my finger and put it in my mouth before taking that digit to circle my areola and nipple. I was working myself up, it was when I brought my hand down and started to circle my clit that Jake started to lose some control.

"Now, Bella." What a shame, one would think what all of the side pussy he gets he could at least garner enough staying power to wait for me. I reach under my covers and find the condom I had stashed there earlier and scoot down and sheath it on Jake's cock.

I get into position and slide down onto him. While it feels good, it's not exactly what I want, like having frozen yoghurt instead of a two-scooped dish of fresh creamery ice cream. I lean back and put my hands on the tops of Jake's thighs and I start to move. Biting my lip, I close my eyes and focus on me and the near piston pumping action I'm moving in.

"Jesus, Bella, fuck, what the-," Jake breathes out, I know he's surprised by my change in demeanor. I'm not being the complacent lay he's used to.

Him speaking will not do. I move forward and prop my hands on his shoulders and lean down to whisper in his ear fiercely in staccato rhythm, "I told you to be quiet." I'm not fucking around, he needs to listen to me. I am picturing that I am at Carlisle's stone house along the riverbank in the middle of the woods, that it's Carlisle's strong and fit body, and it's Carlisle's thrusts meeting my thrusts, Jake speaking ruins my illusion.

I continue to work to please myself, I excite my breasts before moving down to take some of the wetness of myself and move to circle my clit. I've never been this way with Jake before, I normally let him dictate everything; lying on my back while he makes every effort to get his, and sadly, I've spent the last year and a half letting him use my body as a means to his end. No more.

And if I focus real hard, I can block the voice of my conscience that tells me this is wrong. That I'm better than using Jake like this, despite all the times he's stepped out on me.

But, like I said, at the moment I am consuming myself with my needs and wants. Self-reflection can wait for quiet moments of solitude.

"I'm close," Jake starts to scrunch up his face and I know he's almost there. I am not.

"Don't you dare come yet," I hiss at him, my tone sounding like I should have a whip in my hand.

Jake's eyes widen momentarily before he scrunches up again and comes with several jerking motions of his hips. I have not gotten mine and am furious.

I climb off of him and nearly shaking with anger at Jake's lack of control and consideration to me.

"Sorry, Bells, just seeing you like that got the better of me. Shit, you've never been that way before." Jake thinks this is funny.

"I told you not to come," I know I sound petulant. I can't look at him because I'm really close to pulling my arm back and hauling off to punch him and one look at his self-satisfied smirking ass would dissolve my passive nature.

"Just go," I turn my head and look out the east window of my room.

Jake, as ever completely self-involved or unaware of others around him, finishes dressing and then bends over to leave me with a peck on my cheek.

"'Bye babe, that was hot." He goes to the window and quietly climbs out, I turn in time to see his fingers leave the ledge.

I decide now is neither the time nor place where I want to examine the actions of tonight. I get up, walk to my desk chair and put my pajamas on and quietly pad over to close my window.

x

"Mmm hmm," I'm listening to Jake talk about himself. I think he's still talking about himself. I stopped listening about two or three minutes ago. I browse the internet searching for a good picture of drilling rigs and oil derricks for a report I have due on history of the U.S.'s natural oil resource. Videos of the up and down of the drilling rigs is causing me to shift around in my seat. As much as I try not to, since I've barely spoken to Carlisle in near four weeks, I think of our time together and watch in want at the repeated actions. Shaking my head to rid the thought from my mind, I close that browser window and instead enter "oil refineries" into the search engine.

My IM chirps with an incoming message, I click on it and am surprised when a seemingly ordinary act of exchanging email and IM addresses with coworkers has suddenly proved every benefit of living in the digital age.

**What are you doing?**

**

* * *

**

**Notes:** Someone emailed me recently who didn't understand my story summary. Nabokov wrote Lolita which is a sad tale quickly summed up as an older man has an inappropriate relationship with a teenage girl and the consequences of that. F. Scott Fitzgerald personally had problems with drinking. While best known for writing, _The Great Gatsby_, he also wrote, _Tender Is the Night_, the main character is Dick Diver (oh to be able to come up with awesome character names like that), Diver is married and a young actress enters the couples life, I'll stop summarizing there. And Ernest Hemingway, well, he was a man's man who wrote big stories and lived a life of running with bulls and deep sea fishing and living his adventurous life, and had depression.

Alright, reviews are cool, stay in school, tell me if Carlisle rules and Jake drools.


	6. Chapter 6

SM's Twilight = an unrealistic view of the male population for any woman under the age 14.

A few of abbreviations in this chap (I hate it when I don't know one when I'm reading something.) MVC, Multi Vehicle Crash; DUI, driving under the influence; DOE is US Department of Education. Oh, and I totally used a 1960's / MadMen reference, it fit so I commandeered it a little bit. Yeah, not so sexy notes.

* * *

Chapter Six

I lightly tap my finger on the Enter key deciding whether or not to send this message. I figured Bella was probably just the right combination of angry and wanton to decide if she wanted to come over or not. I was curious to see which she chose.

x

After that Saturday when we had gotten together, that first Thursday and Friday at work I saw as she furtively glanced at me; I also watched as her lips wrapped around the straw of her strawberry shake.

To most people they would probably assume she wore she wore some sort of lip gloss called "freshly bitten," or, "lusciously Lolita," but I knew she didn't, her nipples were the same color.

The second Thursday and Friday her glances were slightly more desperate, less disguised, she sat at her computer and nervously tapped her pen against her bottom lip. When she ventured to speak to me I didn't bring my eyes up from the chart I was going over.

"Uh, um, Dr. Cullen, I, um-,"

"Yes, Isabella," I continued to look at the chart. I'm a Doctor, it's expected that I act arrogant and self-important and I enjoy not having the pressure of having to be benevolent.

"Um, here, here are your messages," she stammered and tried to shove pink lined phone messages into my hand.

"You know that's not procedure, please type them out, print them, putting them into the mailbox outside my office and email me copies." I turned and walked away.

The third Thursday and Friday she wouldn't look my way; my messages were printed and emailed to me by 6:00 PM. She had eaten a banana while sitting at her desk.

That fourth Thursday, Bella made no effort to speak with me, my messages were to me by 5:30 PM. The tip of her tongue dragged lazily over her lips while she sat at her computer or answered the phone.

I hit the Enter to send my message.

xxx

"Dr. Cullen, we have a multi MVC coming, 12 minutes out; one male, one female, both 17 years of age, individuals have contusions and lacerations, possible concussion to the female."

"Alright, is there anything additional to the reports?" I ask, wanting to be briefed as best as possible. Last week a crash consisted of a suspended license, Cub Cadet riding mower, and a bottle of Jim Beam, it had been payday for the fishery workers, had it not been payday it would have been a bottle of Early Times. There was an inordinate amount of people in this town with DUI's and a missing digit or two on said offenders' feet.

"Two kids from the high school, one in a van the other in a pickup truck," the nurse informed me.

"Conscious?" I asked.

"Yes, both, able to sit up, they didn't have to be put on boards."

"Thank you," I replied then noticed the nurse was still standing there looking at me. "Yes?" Jesus, procedure was the same whether it's Boston, Chicago or Forks, Washington, I shouldn't have to pull teeth to get all the information.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Cullen, um, the girl coming in is the police chief's daughter."

"Has he been called?"

"I think so."

"You need to find that out, if he hasn't then I need to call him. Keep me informed, we have 11 minutes before arrival." I snapped the stylus back into the e-med chart to signify the end of the conversation.

This town operated on the misconception that the gossip and chatter was a broadcast event in the form of the human network ascribed to it, but when it came to patient care this was not a custom I would foster as means of medical care.

It was this accident when I first met Charlie Swan, the quiet, almost to the point of shyness, chief of police of this small town. It was also the first time I met Bella.

At the time, Bella was nothing more than a patient.

xx

I stood there long after Bella had driven away and stared out into the darkness. I finally walked back to the cottage and pulled out a piece of my personal stationary and my pen and wrote Esme a letter.

_Dear Esme,_

_I hope this letter finds you well and enjoying your time away. When you get a chance please explain to me again how you can be on a "group" Thoreau / Walden retreat, is there a different version of Walden that I am unaware of? :) Your mother called on Thursday, I gather you have not gone to see her or let her know you are in the area, I said you were away and due back in two weeks time. She paused at the vagueness of my answer but didn't press the issue. She mentioned your father was thinking of running for another term, I politely asked her to keep us informed and will defer to your decision on the role you want us to take in the campaign process._

_If you get a chance, please call, I miss talking with you and want to tell you what's been going on around here as well._

_I hope your Life In the Woods is enjoyable._

_Much Love,_

_-CC_

x

The second time I met Bella was with Esme.

I remembered Bella because of her father; he always made it a point to talk with me if we ran into one another at the hospital. Esme and I greeted Bella outside of the supermarket; she was angles and lank and shy nervousness. _"Bella,"_ she almost corrected me like it was an annoyance, then she lost focus momentarily as she stared too hard at me trying to work something out in her brain. She recovered her demeanor by explanation, _"Um, most people call me Bella."_

As we walked to the car, Esme pointed out Bella's dichotomy.

"She's yin and yang," I turned to look at her and gave a slight chuckle. Esme is nothing if not interesting in her bottom-lining of things. "You know? She's both a Jackie and a Marilyn."

"I got the first reference," I mock her teasingly.

"I imagine boys her age don't appreciate what a sexually repressed sex kitten they have on their hands. Poor girl, probably races home after school and puts her hand down her damp little panties just to relieve the pressure that's built up each day pining after Heathcliff or some other complicated and dreary literary character."

"Well done, Es, it's been some time since you've woven a story," I continue with my teasing. Esme is a relentless people watcher. Every club or restaurant, department store, gas station, airplane terminal, charity auction, bank line, or any other activity involving humanity, no one was off limits to Esme, the more ridiculous and exploiting of clichés the more she was entertained by it.

"Honestly, Carlisle, you don't see it?"

I saw it, if not at first it was obvious once Esme pointed it out. Bella was quite beautiful, and probably very sweet too; strong sense of community, helping blind patrons at the library, reading to war veterans on Saturday afternoons, the girl in the neighborhood who brings home crippled stray dogs, that kind of sweet. But then there were her slightly too long lingering looks given to me and her nervous reactions that gave away her façade of outward purity.

"What are you doing, Esme?" Esme had always been like this, commenting on women to me; _Carlisle, look how pretty her hair is_; _Carlisle, that woman has beautiful poise_; _Carlisle, I wonder if she plays paddle tennis_?

"I just think she's a bright spot in an otherwise dull town."

"What does that mean?" Esme and I had spent a long time in making our decision to move here, while Forks was a challenge socially, Esme had made her transition seamless becoming involved in the Garden Club of the Tri-County Area and joining Junior League in Seattle where we had an apartment for when we wanted to see more than river and shoreline. She had endeared herself to the women of Forks with her homemade canapés and tasteful displays of crudités and an afternoon garden party with enough white zinfandel to sway even the most wary small town resident.

"I mean, it's obvious that girl is destined to leave Forks, not an easy feat, most kids attend junior college or join the military after graduating high school, or just go to work, there's usually not even a thought of leaving their multi-generational hometown."

"The same could be said of us, Esme, leaving the family home and all," I jibe her.

"That's different, and you know it."

"Modesty, Esme, modesty."

"No, you're not being realistic. It's taken for granted that you and I have been able to do whatever we want, and for the most part, that's what we've done. It's a different mentality here, there're different expectations. When someone wants to veer from the standard path, in this regard then I think it's something to be encouraged."

Surprised by Esme's sudden shift in intensity, I questioned her motivation. What might look like helping out to one can be taken as being treated like a charity case to another.

"Why the attention to one person of this community?"

"I know she strives for more."

"You do, do you?" I was amused at Esme's human-project mentality.

"Lana Malory said Bella asked the garden club if we offer a scholarship."

"That's industrious and a little sad." While Esme had done more to revitalize the Ladies Garden Club to the point that membership was on the rise in a town of 3,500 people, it was sorry state that this young woman was not aware of opportunities outside of her town. Esme was on the same plane of thought as I was.

"I emailed Father and he sent me the contact information for his friend at the DOE, Dr. Phelps. I wrote Dr. Phelps a letter asking him to send me the information or web sites of college grants and scholarships for someone like Bella."

I looked over at Esme, behind her Mikimotos and St. Johns outfits worn to the supermarket, her heart was pure. "I like that you did that."

"It takes a village," was her Peace Corps reply.

It was because of Esme's interest that the next time I ran into Chief Swan I inquired if Bella had a job.

"Yeah, she works weekends at the sporting goods store in town, why, you need something, Doctor Cullen?" There was always the respect of professions when it involved the Chief.

"Well, if she's looking for some additional employment, I could really use her help in my office a couple of days a week, afterschool." I knew better than to insult Charlie Swan with a charity job offer for his daughter. The fact of the matter was I didn't need someone to answer pharmacy phones calls at my office.

I gave him my personal information and he shook my hand telling me he would talk to Bella about the opportunity.

When Bella called me to make arrangements she was nervous and distracted, not a trait I wanted to tolerate in my fledgling medical practice. Despite my doubts, I invited her over for an informal interview and was not prepared for the young woman who came to my house on that Sunday afternoon.

I watched her as she eyed me, I saw her taking in the sight of my bare chest even though she was wearing sunglasses. She was on the cusp of becoming a woman, of learning what her wiles were and what she could do with them. I tried not to see the way her nipples hardened in that store shirt that was at least a size too small and I tried even harder to not look at her lean legs.

Taking her blood I could more than sense the charge in the room. Her hips held steady but wanting to rock back and forth against the chair in search of relief or friction. It was the way her eyes remained on me while I stroked and felt her arm to find a vein to insert the needle that made me understand desperate want, it wasn't until I looked back into her youthful eyes and saw the lust that I snapped myself back to reality.

That evening, when I took Esme from behind, pounding into her as an outlet for my pent up virility, did I finally feel release from tension of the afternoon.

"That was," Esme said as we lay on our backs in bed, "unexpected." Esme was not one to let things go unnoticed, but I was too stupid to catch on quicker.

"Are you questioning my abilities as a man to satisfy his woman?" I joke about my performance.

"No. I'm just wondering if I was just a willing partner filling in for someone else."

"What does that mean?" I continued to lie on my back and look up to the ceiling.

"I ran into Chief Swan at the liquor store, he said Bella was meeting with you about a job. He was excited - as much as he can display excited."

I lazily scratched my chest before asking anything else.

"What are you saying, Es?"

Esme remained quiet for a few moments, choosing her words.

"I'm just saying that I'm appreciative of all that our lives are, while maybe unorthodox, I think we've made grounded choices."

Those words hung in the air between us until I responded to her statement.

"Esme, if you want to amend our agreement, all you have to do is say so," it was by no means a threat or warning but rather a declaration.

"I'm not saying that."

Understanding washed over me. We remained in bed for several more minutes until I rolled over and kissed the side of her head and got up to take a shower.

x

Away from my office, the third time I saw Bella, it was all different. I knew she had turned 18. I hadn't been indifferent to it, but I hadn't planned anything either. Seeing her at the Apple Fest I saw her frustration throwing the balls and missing the target and listening to her friend tease her about her poor skills. I didn't give a shit whether or not she could knock the smart mouthed fucker into the water, I'm not heartless but I did give a shit that she was being mocked.

Esme was right, this girl was a dichotomy. Watching her at work, when she was given a task, she was diligent to its completion. Outside of the routine of her tasks she was flustered and uncertain of herself, like she needed purpose or guidance to feel confident in her abilities.

I went to help her, giving her tips and showing her the proper way to hold the ball, all the while subtly filling the air with innuendo, double entendres, seemingly nonchalant touches and secret hot breathed whispers into her ear.

She didn't disappoint.

And then I invited her back with me to my private place in the woods.

And it was fucking worth it.

I tried to give her an out and she wouldn't take it. In reality it was a hollow offer, I didn't want her to leave but didn't want to tip my hand to let her know that.

_"Well, Carlisle,"_ she said my name in challenge_, "if you aren't going to fuck me in the middle of a park path, when and where are you going to fuck me?"_

Jesus, I had never experience such self-confidence from a high school girl when I was 18. And I attended college prep with girls with the presumptive boredom that comes with privilege.

And because I was used to getting what I wanted, I egged her on, despite possible repercussions.

"_A beautiful woman like you doesn't need to say such a vulgar word to get a man into her bed_." I wanted her to bend over with her hands pressed against my truck and let me take her from behind and let her know I knew her secrets, her life in two parts. Instead I replied, "_But it's pretty hot nonetheless_." Her exhale belied her outward boldness.

I gave her one last out, though. Maybe she would come to her senses to stop me from taking her.

I sat in that chair in the bedroom like some pompous roué with a high priced whore. I watched her movements while I removed my shoes as her feet walked to the far edge of the bed, looking up at her with bored indifference played as my expression. I saw she was uncertain and nervous. Maybe one more step would be her tipping point.

"_Bella_," I said, impassively, I watched as she sat up even straighter, maybe even squaring her shoulders to be on the ready to storm out in an indignant huff. "_I want you to_," and here I said it, the last test, the last hoop to jump, the possibly last request I would have a chance to ask of her. "_Undress for me_."

And I watched as she ran through her internal pros and cons list. I could pretty well guess what that list included. _If I do this, am I a slut_? Her list would ask. My answer would be; _Does it matter since this will only be between us, here_? _Do good girls do this_? This question would flit through her mind, not wanting an answer, but I would answer her. I would tell her, _No, _good_ girls do _not_ do this, but are you really a _good_ girl_? _Do I want to do this_? This would be her list's last question to which I would answer; _I believe this was your idea, Bella_. I might twist the truth on that one, because I was the one to instigate this at the fairgrounds.

And then? She came into her own, answered her questions and made the choice to stay. She walked over to stand in front of me and showed me the other side of the coin.

She started to fucking strip. I felt the self-satisfied smile spread unbidden across my face. I was one dirty lucky fucker.

As she released each button to narration of her touching herself, I grew hard. When she ran her hand up and tipped her head back and gripped her neck, I wanted to pull myself out from my pants and start stroking. And then? Well, then it was the best part; she owned what she was doing. She loved what she was doing. I knew she wasn't objectified because despite my challenge to do this act, stripping in front of me turned her on; it gave her control of which she took full party. And when she undid that button on those cutoffs and pulled down the zipper, each of the teeth of the zipper being released increased the flow of blood to my dick. This hardness caused by Bella's utter erotic titillation.

All those questions of right or wrong disappeared when she unknowingly revealed the truth of her suspected self-imposed repression. Esme had been right, this was an unfulfilled young woman who craved a chance to give in to her baser wants. The color of her shabby bra and panty set in beautiful contrast to her dark hair, and when I was revealed what was underneath, I was lost to it all.

x

Esme's return letter was received a week after I sent mine.

_My Dearest Carlisle,_

_I wonder if you will ever give me your fullest attention when I speak with you about something. H.D. Thoreau didn't isolate himself, he just "left town" and got a little nature-y, surely you can recall this from the nearly two times you spent in Exeter's English 330? No? Shame, my darling. Besides, this is Transcendentalism for the 21st century, none of us time inhabitants can possibly survive without someone else to listen to us jabber, if we could, we'd likely be on an FBI Most Wanted list and be living off of animals that the rest of us tend to kill off with D-Con. Is that too harsh? I have been told I come across as uppity at times. See, this retreat is enlightening._

_I miss you terribly and look forward to whatever news it is that prompted an actual letter from you. I will not dare hazard a guess._

_My love and devotion sent to you from somewhere in the wilds of New Hampshire._

_xo, Es_

x

Having sent my message, I wait. I'm looking through some medical equipment catalog, I come across a battery operated vein illuminator, I stick a post it note next to the product reminding myself to ask my phlebotomist if we have one of these.

I'm in the middle of paying my American Express bill when my IM chimes with a message.

-**I'm not listening to my boyfriend talk about himself.**

-**Come over**

I don't ask as a question. Her reply is almost instant.

-**Why should I bother?**

Apparently she did not appreciate the way we left things four weeks ago or our clipped exchange at the office.

-**Because you want to see me**

I finish paying my bill and am checking my email before she replies again.

-**Why?**

-**Why what? Why do you want to see me? I think you know why.**

I sign my Accounts Manager up for a conference in Seattle regarding changes in insurance billing for Medicare and Medicaid, she's not going to be happy about it.

My IM chimes with the next incoming message.

-**You tell me why**

There's the backbone I was looking for, it had been missing for the past four weeks.

-**Because you can't deny you didn't enjoy yourself.**

I hit enter then add another message.

-**Four times you enjoyed yourself – or was it five?**

I'm in the middle of updating my LinkedIn profile when my IM chimes for the last time.

-**1 hour**

I hear her truck rumble down the drive and I go out to meet her.

"Hi," She says, her head cocked to the side, her eyes looking directly into mine, her expression is placid and cool.

"Hello," I reply, my gaze retuning hers. "You want to go for a walk?" I tip my head towards the stone cottage and hold out my hand.

"Might as well," she looks down at the ground briefly before taking my hand.

I think she's working on something, occasionally when I turn to look at her, her response is delayed and distracted. I attribute it to nerves.

Once inside the cottage I continue to hold her hand and lead her towards the bedroom, but I stop, I may want her but I am a man of obvious propriety, even in this indecorous rendezvous.

"Do you want something to drink or a piece of fruit?" I don't know what I have here other than bourbon and an apple or two.

"No," she pauses, picking up a crystal paperweight from my desk before setting it down and looking at a couple of framed Alken etchings, "thanks."

I pour myself a glass of water not wanting dull my senses, I'm curious about this act she's putting on.

"Is there something you want to talk about?"

She turns and looks at me, her eyes calculating.

"Are you going to take my jacket?" She asks this of me expectantly, like she's been waiting for me to do it.

I mentally raise my eyebrows at this. I have to give her style points, she's making me go through my paces. "Yes, of course, forgive me, Isabella," I say with the smallest amount of a dare hinting in my tone, I'm actually enjoying the fact that she thinks she's in control.

"It's Bella, I prefer Bella," her stare is hard, cold and challenging, "or did you forget that?"

She turns so her back is to me and I help her off with her jacket. It's an oversized varsity jacket, no doubt gifted by her boyfriend and she's worn it to make me aware of that fact. I walk over to the entryway coat rack and lay it across the bench.

Her back is to me but I can tell her arms are folded across her chest.

"Are you going to confront me or continue these little passive aggressive digs? I'd like to know how to plan my evening." I ask as though I'm bored. If Esme were here, she'd call me a cad.

Bella tips her head back before righting it and turning around. Her lip clenched between her top and bottom teeth that makes me aware of her frustration.

"I came here to have the satisfaction of telling you to fuck off."

I look at her then allow my eyes to travel down. She's wearing a thick white t-shirt that looks to be a young boy's shirt, it's tight across the chest and the sleeves just barely go past her shoulders. She's not wearing a $350 pair of jeans outsourced to look vintage, she's wearing an honest pair of faded and worn jeans, probably Levis as I can see the orange stitching along the pockets, and she probably got them from a thrift store.

"Well," I deadpan at her, "are you going to or what?" I'm done teasing.

"Am I going to tell you to fuck off?" She brings her eyes to look up at mine. "No, sadly, I'm not," her regret is true.

"And why's that?"

I watch as her eyes travel down to look at my crotch, then back up to look me in the eyes.

"Because I liked how it was between us, it was so," her eyes look upwards in search of the word she wants, "fulfilling." Her tone is relief, like she's finally rationalized to herself the time we've spent together.

"Listen, Bella," I take a step closer to her, she moves back slightly which makes me stop moving. "I didn't talk to you because I don't want you to have false expectations. This isn't anything you've done before." I want to continue on, to warn her that I will not tolerate longing glances or secret whispers, anywhere, work or otherwise, but I keep quiet and give her the credit for being quick on the uptake.

"I know that," she says more to herself than to me. Once again she holds that full, bottom lip between her teeth. "The longer I stand here the faster I lose my convictions."

I'm a little confused by her statement and try to remember if I held any convictions when I was 18. After a moment I come up with a response.

"You can't be my girlfriend. I think we're both intelligent enough to know what this is about." I look at her expectantly and wait.

"Why would you think that's what I would want? I'm already someone's girlfriend. I'm not bothered that this is only about physical pleasure. The truth is, I never knew how much I liked sex until I had it with you," she looks at me, embarrassed by her admission.

I, on the other hand, appreciate her honesty, it's refreshing to hear a woman be surprised by her sexuality and prowess. Somewhere between Gloria Steinem, Madonna and Lil' Kim, women seemed to have picked up the male bravado, boisterously bragging of their multiple orgasms and tight pink pussies. Bella, in her earnestness, is uncovering her body's secrets through her own experiences and discoveries, this is both refreshing and desirable.

But now I'm done talking, I didn't sign up for handholding and sessions talking about our _feelings_.

I look at her in a way that signifies an end to this line of discussion. She looks back at me and takes a step forward. Then another step, then another until she is standing in front of me. She takes my hand and walks me over to a chair.

"You think I can't be detached?" She asks sliding her hands underneath my untucked shirt and releasing my belt buckle and the button to my chinos. "Do you think I can't control myself around you, because I've never, as you said, done anything like this before?" While she's saying these words she's watching her fingers as she unbuttons my shirt.

Before I can stop myself, I take a shaky inhale of air.

"If I was so young and immature, as you have implied," she unzips my pants, "then why did you instigate this?"

Fair enough question if I were in a rational state of mind. I keep my eyes on her, my mouth very lightly pursed because I was trying not to cede control.

She reaches in my pants and lightly rubs the heel of her hand down over my cock. My thighs quake at the sensation.

"My life would have been just fine without you, Carlisle Cullen." She hooks her thumbs in the waistband of my boxers and brings them and my pants to the floor. My cock is more than semi-erect. She gently pushes my shoulder down signaling that I was to sit in the chair. If I were not looking forward to having her take me in her mouth I would have argued that her life may have been fine but it would have been unfulfilled.

She goes to her knees and takes her tongue and licks my slit before taking her hand and wrapping it around the shaft. She licks around the head followed by gently blowing air causing me to become hard and singularly focused. She starts to flick my frenulum before taking my length into her mouth and moving up and down, her hand sliding in rhythm, the wetness and movement of her head and her fingers which have started to lightly massage my balls, would be so much better if she would just look up at me, but she hasn't, her eyes are closed.

I want her to look at me. I want her to look at me with those thick lashes and brown eyes knowing that this is the best because with me she learned who she is and what she likes to do. But she won't look at me. I bring my hands into her hair and underneath her ears and try to indicate that I want her to gaze up at me.

She pauses briefly where her hand has rested at the base, she can't quite deep throat me, if this was another time I would tell her to relax her throat muscles or to practice with a banana or popsicle or something equally phallic, but she's not participating with me, she's giving me head by her own accord.

"Bella, look at me," I'm getting closer despite the fact that I am quickly realizing she has her own agenda of proving something, whether it's to herself or to me, I'm not certain.

She briefly pauses again, her lips around my penis, her hand at the base of my shaft and hums a "mm-muh," in refusal. At least her telling me 'no,' gave me a pleasurable vibration.

"Come on, baby, I'm close, I want to be inside of you," I finally realize that she still has all of her clothes on, she has one hand going up and down my cock, the other gently massaging my balls, I would have expected her to have a hand buried down her pants by now or fingers pinching her freshly bitten or lusciously Lolita colored nipples, but she doesn't. Although the mental visual of that thought brings me even closer.

I give her a courtesy tap, either to ask her to hurry to the bed and get undressed or to let her know I'm coming, she does not move but increases her pace. I release in her mouth and am pleased that she swallows, but the entire act is not entirely satisfying. Well, physically it was, but there was no interaction. Only a small narration of sorts from Bella, and I didn't get to enjoy her body or her moans and actions.

She opens her eyes and is up swiftly so she's standing above me. Despite my post-fellatio stupor, I speak.

"I want to take you on the bed."

But she's already walking towards the door. "I don't think so, Carlisle. I'll talk to you later," and slips on her jacket and walks out the door.

I'm sitting there with a limp dick and my pants around my ankles and wondering when the control shifted.

* * *

**A/N** Those who reviewed last time had some strong opinions on Jake, let me know if you think Carlisle is a misogynist ass or a pompous ass or both – or neither.

I put a link on my profile for the Australia flood fandom compilation, there's going to be lots of stories, majority from Twilight (over 200 authors!) As I've just had 3 feet of snow melt in three days and today it's raining, I don't want to imagine all that the Land Down Under has gone through, minimum $5 gets you lots of reads and helps give some relief.


	7. Chapter 7

SM's Twilight: where no tiger blood was spilled in the writing of the series, although some (highly unexplainable) vampire sperm was. I really didn't understand the physiology of it; the only thing living in all of vampires is sperm?

Last chapter's reviews were so very, Yeah. Thank you.

I don't subject this bitch to an editor or proof reader or whatnot, all errors are mine. I went back to find something in a previous chapter and was appalled at all the wrong, my apologies.

Let's see what happens after the blowjob and who gets kicked to the curb this chap…

* * *

Chapter Seven

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," I bang the heel of my hand onto the hard bakelite of the steering wheel. I'm angry, maybe embarrassed, and truthfully, more than a little proud of myself.

Who the fuck does Dr. Carlisle Cullen think he is? He ignores me for nearly a month making me feel like some slutty, used piece of common, wrong-side-of-the-tracks piece of trash. Then he invites me over and proceeds to talk to me in his bored but he's bothering to give me attention, kind of way? No, not a stellar move, Carlisle.

Telling me I couldn't be his girlfriend, giving me no credit for having a realistic assessment of the situation, thinking he could control everything. It was too much for me to take. I sexually snapped and I showed him that I held a few power plays myself. I had a mouth and tongue, after all.

When he sent me those IMs this evening, I was surprised. Being on the phone with Jake, not listening to him talk about whatever he was on about, all while having an Instant Message tango with Carlisle, it was wrong, and I liked it.

-**Come over**

What the fuck was that about? He couldn't demand my presence. I knew I wanted to get with him again, but I wasn't a convenience call, either.

I held my ground, I didn't give in to Carlisle as easily as he probably thought I would. I contemplated telling him to let it go, once was enough, but then he reminded me how much I enjoyed myself. Actually, he told me not to deny the fact that I enjoyed myself, he had counted and remembered how many orgasms I'd had; _Four times you enjoyed yourself – or was it five_?

That reminded me, I needed to ask Rose about multiple orgasms; does a really long one with little hip bucking ones count as one or multiple? Usually my self-produced ones are powerful, yet kind of short and with no hip bucking.

But in the end, I went to see him. And I showed up there with what Renee would call, _a real chip on my shoulder_.

x

Jake had been bugging me about going to his football game tomorrow night. It was The Game, the Res school versus Forks H.S., always the biggest game of the season regardless of each team's record for that year. Our exchange had been ugly.

"Bella! Are you even listening to me?"

"No Jake, I'm not listening to you," I snapped back. "All you do is keep a constant chatter going about _you_, it's exhausting. God, I don't even know how I've listened to you this long." The moment that statement was out of my mouth, I froze. That was pretty harsh, even though the truth was like a bell.

There was total silence on the phone save for Jake's mouth breathing and the chewing of his hangnails.

"Are you mad at me?" Jake whimpered into the phone.

"Only dogs are mad, Jake, and I'm not angry at you, I'm just, I don't know, worn out, I guess." I sighed. I know I sounded like a prudish bitch, but I just wasn't up for pretending to be with Jake. I knew I needed to break it off with Jake, I didn't know if there was anything good left between us and I missed our friendship, I've just become another place for him to stick his dick into.

Jake's tone changed to cold. "Whatever, Bella, get off your uppity shit, tomorrow's important, I thought you'd want to be there for me."

This tactic of Jake's used to work on me. He would make be me feel badly for having an opinion and expressing it. I realized no though, that it highlights the fact that he's not only immature, but has a weak character. Suddenly this realization highlights how unappealing all of Jake is to me these days.

"You know what, Jake, I'm not up for this tonight, I'll just – I'll talk to you later," and I hung up. I'd never hung up on anyone before and the action, while deserved, just put me on edge more than anything else.

Whether it was Jake pushing me over the edge with his whining and bullying, or my want to be back in Carlisle's bed to get me off or just being tired of my life, I told Carlisle I'd be over in an hour.

In hindsight, that was probably not the best reason and mindset to go see Carlisle to try and renew our onetime affair.

Did I really just call it an _affair_? There must be something better to call it, some sort of French word that says it more elegantly or accurately?

When I show up to Carlisle's place, he meets me at my truck and wastes no time moving me to his cottage. I have all sorts of everything running through my mind; Jake, how I lied to Charlie and asked Rose to cover for me so I could get out of the house on a school night, how I have increasingly become more and more angry at the way Carlisle treated me since we fucked. It all kinda came to a head.

Okay, that was a poor choice of words.

I went there wearing Jake's stupid Junior Varsity jacket. It wasn't something I wore often. Jake had given it to me, it had been easy for him to, between his freshman and sophomore year he became some like Guinness Book freak and grew what seemed to be two feet and most of his clothes no longer fit him. He tried to make it seem like he was bestowing me with the high school holy grail, telling me he wanted everyone to know I was his _girl_, instead I felt like I was being marked with a scarlet _**J**_. The jacket was big and bulky and made me look like I was wearing an older brother's piece of forgotten outerwear rather than looking teen movie sexy. But tonight I wore it to prove a point, that I had a life outside the auspices of Carlisle Cullen.

When I was there, everything Carlisle did pissed me off more and more. Telling me I was being passive aggressive and acting like I was taking up his time, letting me know I wouldn't be his girlfriend. Where the fuck did he get off telling me that he imagined I was writing him bad poetry and crying into soaked tissues every night waiting for him to notice me again? I wasn't under any false pretenses, I didn't expect him to leave his wife and move us to like, Paris to join The Lost Generation or some shit.

Apparently, these things that I wouldn't or couldn't be, were my tipping point. In my mind, I had one way to shift the perceived balance of power.

I gave him spiteful head, revenge head, hateful head? If there was a precedence of this, I didn't know about it so I didn't know what to call what I had done. I hadn't looked at him, not during the whole blowjob or afterward. Afterwards would have been horrible to see him like that, getting soft, with his pants around his ankles, and not at all how I wanted to remember him. I wanted to remember him leaning into me, quietly giving me tips on how to throw the baseball, or the charged air when he drew my blood, or when I narrated my masturbation routine while I stood and stripped naked in front of him while he looked at me like I was a meal to eat.

No, I didn't want to see how I left him, to see if he was affected at all. Instead, I got up, took my coat and strolled out of there like I had James Brown following behind me accentuating every step taken with a funky badass bassline and a velvet cape.

My Motor City empowerment didn't last though. I walked carefully and with purpose, back to my truck only hearing the stones squeaking against the rubber of my shoes. I lifted myself into my truck to make my way to the highway.

So here I sit, alone and swearing out loud. I don't know what to do with myself. I have to call Rose, but I don't want to go see her. She was curious since, for the first time ever, I used her as an excuse so I could get out of the house. I barely skirted lying to her, only telling her I had to get out of the house for a bit. She's cool, I think she was stoned and wasn't quick enough to ask me why I needed to get out of the house. And now I have to kind of not lie to her again so my story is covered so I can go back to my house after telling Charlie I was spending the night at Rose's. Jesus, lying is a chore.

I pull out onto the highway and drive to a turnoff, a different turnoff than the one where I met Carlisle, no need to relive that drama. I dial Rose's number.

"What's up my lady love?" Rose is definitely high, I wonder if it's wrong that I'm glad she is.

"Hey Rose, um, hey, I'm gonna go back to my house."

"What's up?" She asks me a little slowly.

"Uh, I don't know, nothing really, I just needed to go," what did I just need to go do? I can't really say I needed to go give a 35 year old guy an awesome, yet morally bankrupt blowjob. "I just needed to go clear my head for a bit." God, why can't I stop saying, _head_?

"Yeah, I dig. Hey, are you coming with us tomorrow, to the game?"

Rose's disinterest in my activities and change of subject were all sorts of perfect. But the game, fuck, I had been a bitch to Jake. I had never not supported him. I had to go to the game, and maybe I could meet up with Jake afterwards and clear the air between us.

"Yeah, I'll meet you two there, I have to work until six."

I hang up with Rose and make my way back home. Charlie was in the same place where I had last seen him, sitting in his plaid Barcalounger with a beer in hand, eyes glued to the fly fishing extravaganza playing on flat screen. I actually think it's a DVD and whoever the genius was who figured out there was a market for this sort of thing must surely be sitting in a corner office by now.

"Hey Bells, I didn't expect to see you back here tonight," eyes watching the chanting of the fishing line over the water. "Rose okay?" Charlie cough chokes a little bit.

I have to remember and tell Rose that my excuse to get out of the house was that she was out of tampons and needed some girl-time tonight. I should be wearing an orange perforated vest and cleaning up garbage on a highway for lying and causing high levels of discomfort to my father.

"Yeah, thanks. Goodnight, Dad."

Sleep was black and unsatisfying.

Being at school was a chore. I had a lot to work out. As much as I wanted to be disgusted by my actions last night at Carlisle's, I wasn't. Yeah, I get where he's coming from. He doesn't really know me at all, what if I was the type to constantly drop files in front of him and accidentally graze his cock on the pick up? Stuff like that doesn't go unnoticed for long. But I wasn't that type, at all, in my eyes, there was nothing someone could catch on to. He never bothered to talk to me, regardless of the fact that we were not girlfriend and boyfriend. And what a pompous ass for thinking I wanted to be his girlfriend, or that I would have him as a boyfriend.

By the time I got to work at Dr. Cullen's office, I knew that I needed to make a decision.

Break up with Jake or try to recapture what we once had.

I knew I wasn't destined for Jake or he for me, it took him being a star athlete and a star cheat for me to see this fact, but I did think we were destined to be friends, if we spent a few years fucking one another, it wouldn't be the worst thing.

I needed to look at this like a balance scale.

I opened a new document on my computer, looking around to make sure I was alone and worked on making a very formal and concise list of actions and reactions to my, "salvage it with Jake," plan.

-**Jake does not know or care how to satisfy me.**

_-I can show him how to satisfy me and not get exasperated when he can't or doesn't, but at least let him know he hasn't._

-**He cheats on me.**

-_I cheated on him, confront him and figure out why he cheated on me, if he can't help himself, then breakup. (I will leave my times with _X_ out of the equation.)_

-**He doesn't make time for me.**

-_Make him make time if he wants this to work. Maybe wear something to entice him and not just jeans and thrift store finds. _

*Remember that relationships are a two way street, he must have issues with me, hear them out.*

Looking at these points, this list made me want to vomit, reading like some _Seventeen Magazine_ bullshit where a few pithy words and trendy pictures of celebrity couples would be the beacon of guidance for all of teenage girls' lust and angst.

The list aside, I knew Jake could be good again. And I could be good to him again, too. Somewhere through his inflated ego and the backslapping and hype that surrounded him by the hangers-on, he was sweet, and gullible too, it added to his charm. He would have a sense of awe with the simplest of things; like the sight of the double rainbow we saw last October when we were walking along the beach. Or when he found the fourth wheel rim for his never-ending restoration of his car. And when he scored a C+ on his history exam after we studied together. He had been pretty funny about that one too, stating he could have scored higher but the test was culturally biased, but then he gave me a hug and spun me around because he was proud of himself. Those were the unguarded moments that drew me to his open heart. It wouldn't be all bad to be back with that Jake again.

I would convince myself to move past Carlisle. If he was going to decide when or where we could see each other, I could decide that he wasn't doing me any favors other than ones that made me want to writhe around in multiple pleasure waves and grip the bedspread to secure myself to the satisfaction.

Carlisle would never know that I wouldn't want to secretly pursue him anymore. My oral display the night before probably didn't even beg the question in his mind, regardless.

I trashed my document about Jake and finished recording the calls and messages for Dr. Cullen.

Turning away from putting the correspondences in his mailbox, I walked a step or two, looking at the paper cut on my finger, watching as the blood sort of marched out in a line along the little slit. I didn't notice where I was going and of course, ran directly into Dr. Cullen.

"Jesus, holy fuck, you scared the shit outta me." I have no class. He'll probably fire me for my mouth, my termination interview would read, "_Sucked my dick hatefully and had a mouth lousy with swear words_." Probably couldn't include that with my soon to be due college applications.

He just looks at me a moment, tucks the chart he was looking at underneath his arm and gives me his Professional Healer smile and eye twinkle. I covertly try to check if my arm is broken or if I had chickenpox or diabetes or something because I'm not certain why I'm getting this type of look from him.

"Pardon me, Isabella," he lightly takes my elbow like he has to steady my quivering body. That might be the case, actually.

"No, my fault, Dr. Cullen," I look him in the eye. Unthinkingly, I bring my bleeding finger and put it in my mouth and suck on it to stop the flow and that's when it dawns on me what I must look like, the same time bringing my eyes to look up at him. I remove my finger like it was the head of an asp.

Carlisle looks at me with some anger, and some pleasure. While my moral compass looks to find true north, my labia and clit seem to pulse, oblivious to my code of ethics. I wonder if there's some sort of support group I should be attending? I remind myself that tonight I was going to try and repair things with Jake.

"Enjoy your weekend." No one would ever guess the briefly illicit things we've done to one another.

I stand there momentarily, my mouth hanging open while I wonder if I need to process what just happened. The other side of my brain tells the vaguely logical side to shut it, take a mental picture of how he looks right now and try to finger myself to a slightly satisfying climax before I have to go to this football game tonight. I realize I have not responded to him and he's probably wondering how long he should stand there while I act inept.

"Thank you, you too." Words flow from my mouth like cement.

He walks past me and into his office, I gracelessly lurch my way back to shut down and gather my things to go meet Rose and Emmett.

I change in the bathroom in the hallway, not the one in the office. Dr. Cullen doesn't like his staff, even after a shift is over, walking out and looking unprofessional. Sometimes, despite the fact that I've had his dick inserted in more than one place in my body, I want to tell him his big city conduct just comes off as pretension here in the sticks of Forks. I remind myself that I have chosen Jake, no more thoughts of Carlisle's dick.

x

"Hey, you guys," I am the perfect embodiment of the bored high school senior.

"My lady love!"

"What's the word, Bell?" Emmett asks while patting my ass as I walk by.

"The word is, Hot."

Sitting next to Rose, I settle in and listen while she makes fun of people in the stands.

"Have you ever had to work with Newton on a project?" She points with her chin in his direction on the sidelines. "We had to do a paper together in History the other day, all the dude did was stare at my tits and fuck up my average."

It was not uncommon to wonder how many years Mrs. Newton breastfed Mike.

"Hey, there's Angela. Did you know she and Ben have been fucking like it's the Rapture since school started?"

"How do you know that?" I was kinda incredulous. Angela, totally nice, in her meek shall inherit the earth, kind of way, would never be fucking anyone. She would be procreating once there was a Sears planned wedding and a respectable trip to the Appalachian Mountains for volunteer work serving as a honeymoon.

"I was walking out one day to go to the woods, and I dropped my lighter, I turned to pick it up and saw it in all its awkward glory."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean they're doing it all the time." The whole act was so uncharacteristic for Angela it seemed unbelievable. But, as much as I didn't really care about gossip; I mean, there's only so many people and so many times you want to hear about a drunken ride home on the Cub Cadet and the shearing off of a toe or two, this information about Angela was fairly captivating.

"Right, but then a few days later, I was walking back out from the woods, texting Emmett and not paying attention when I heard them. The were making moany noises," Rose scrunched up her face when she said that.

"Alright, yeah, but twice doesn't necessarily mean it's all the time." This argument was starting to seem weak.

"Well, after the third time I saw them, when I left through the gym because Emmett was picking me up, I saw them walking from out back together, Ben had a leaf sticking out of the waistband of his pants and Angela's missionary braids were all sorts of fucked up. God, I couldn't even look at them." Rose shakes her head quickly.

"Wow. Her dad would call for some sort of exorcism if he had any clue."

"Totally. It must be some total moral dilemma for Ang, birth control and all."

Rose and I both stare at Angela and wait for halftime.

"You two want wieners?"

Rose looks at Emmett like he's _special_, I laugh.

"Always. Extra firm but juicy, not one of those floppy ones."

"That's my girl," Emmett raises his fist up to his shoulder like I just gave him a proud moment. I can't help but smile, Emmett is the perfect escape.

Rose looks and raises her naturally blond eyebrows up at me, then looks back to Emmett. "Yeah, make that two wieners, Em, I think Bella and I both want a mouthful of hot and juicy tonight."

I swear, Emmett just purr grunts and adjusts his balls. He brings out his impish dimples and it's times like these I know why Rose loves to be with him, you can't help but feel good.

"You ladies want buns with those?"

"Perv, just go," Rose says and we both shove him away.

"Emmett's fun," I say, trying to hide the wistfulness in my voice as we both watch him walk away. I didn't add that Emmett's strong shoulders were beautiful too. That would probably be interpreted poorly.

"Yeah, and he's got a nice ass too!" Rose raises her hands and pretends like she's giving his butt a squeeze.

"So wrong," I trail off, still smiling because I'm happy. Jake's never fun like this.

"What're you up to after the game? Emmett and I are going to Beanie's for some party, you wanna come with?"

Rose had often invited me to stuff, I never go, though, and being caught at Beanie's would put an end to me using my truck for anything other than getting to and from school and work. Charlie wouldn't tolerate me being in the presence of drugs or alcohol.

Now was as a good a time as any to slip in my intentions with Jake. "Thanks, I'm gonna try and hook up with Jake after the game. If they win, I want to talk to him tonight."

"Jesus, Bella," Rose says and she vice grips my arm, "wait until a few days after this game before you break up with him. Either way, if he wins or loses, dumping him on the same night is entirely a basket of shit to present to him."

"I'm not breaking up with him."

"Oh, sorry." Rose was probably running through a list of girls she had seen Jake hook up with and was trying not to suffer hoof and mouth disease again.

"I get why you said it. I've just spent the past day or so thinking about Jake and what to do with him. I mean, what if I wasn't the best girlfriend, which is why he cheats on me. I've never even confronted him, I let this drag on. If I tell Jake that I know about his cheating and he wants to break it off, then good, at least we can move on. If he tells me why he cheats, then maybe I can change what I'm doing and he can change what he's doing. Either way, I won't let this keep going the way it is, that's just stupid."

Rose is quiet for a little bit, looking down through the stands.

"You see April down there?"

I look to see April Reed barely standing up, laughing too loudly and flicking her fake red hair every 4.7 seconds.

"Yeah?"

"Every time she goes to a party, she gets pretend really wasted. You know, she drinks like half a beer, and starts acting like she is now and with an ass the size of hers, there's no way she could get drunk that fast."

"And?"

"Emmett and I are at this party last weekend in PA, and pretend drunk April is there, showing off for a whole new audience of lemmings. That girl gives a bad name to all female underage drinkers the world over. So I'm watching her while Emmett is like thumb wrestling or something _dude_ like that, and I'm baffled that so many guys fall for that crap. Turns out, I heard on Monday, she gave six different guys blowjobs. Seriously, it was like a self imposed oral train."

"God, I wonder if she swallowed all the spunk?" My stomach kind of lurched at the thought of that much jizz in your system at one time.

"Oh, nasty," Rose replies in complete distaste. "God, I didn't even think of it that way. Eww, so gross." Rose shivers. After a few moments, Rose asks what she thinks is a topical question, "What does Jake's jizz taste like?"

"Are we really going to continue on down this path?" Rose nods her head, I think about what it does taste like, "Kind of like burnt, salty coffee mixed with bleach."

"You swallow all the time?"

"Yeah, but then again, I don't go down on him all that often anymore, I don't exactly know where else his dick has been. I used to. It was always quick so it wasn't so bad. Jake needs to learn the politeness of a courtesy tap though."

I need to remember why I'm trying to stay together with this guy.

"What's Emmett's spunk taste like?" Did I really just ask that question?

"Um, I don't know, maybe like salty sweet almonds. Salty though."

"Doesn't sound so bad," I shrug. The game is starting again.

"Yeah, it's alright, you know, as far as ejaculate goes," Rose says dryly.

"Hey, ladies, here's your hot wieners, extra mustard."

"Thanks babe, you know I love the sauce," Rose smiled sweetly at Emmett while I try not to choke.

"It's not sauce, it's just mustard." Emmett's cute when he's confused.

We watch the rest of the game while Rose fills me in on more of Fork's random gossip.

"…secretly smokes a pack of cigarettes a day and her husband doesn't even notice, but my mom thinks he has a girlfriend on the side…told her boyfriend she broke her hymen riding a horse, when in actuality she lost her virginity a week before to his best friend…dude only has one testicle, I gave him a hand job in 8th grade…"

That caught my attention. "How did I not know about the hand job?"

"I felt sorry for the guy, I didn't want to spread it around. He told me last year that he got a fake one. I like him, I think he's gay now."

"Due to your hand job he realized he was gay?" I joke.

"No, due to the fact that he likes—"

"I get what he likes, Emmett." I often wondered if Emmett understood irony. No joke.

"Hey, come with me to the bathroom," Rose asks me. Jake's team is up by two touchdowns, I probably should have paid better attention to the game instead of gossiping. I can probably just say to him that he looked great and his team really backed him up, he'll like that.

"Yeah, let's go." I could fix my hair and maybe borrow some lip gloss or something from Rose.

"So, you're really going to stay with Jake, yeah?"

"Yes," I need to start making myself and everyone else who's doubted this relationship, believe that it can work.

Rose doesn't say anything in response.

"Rose, how did you know you loved Emmett?" I ask her as we pass the concession stand on the way to the restrooms. Maybe I missed something. Maybe love isn't sparks and electricity and blindness to all faults. Maybe it's about seeing all those faults and learning to live with them.

Saying it that way, love kind of sounds sucky and boring. Maybe I _was_ in love with Jake.

"I just knew. When he fell and I had to help him up, I just saw him differently, like he was someone I wanted to help me do the dishes or go to Prom to make fun of people with. You know what I mean?"

I liked the story of how Emmett and Rose met. One day he had asked her to go out to the woods to smoke a bowl. He kept finding excuses to touch her; to help her step over a rabbit hole, holding her hand while she walked around a fern, moving a dried leaf out of her way. He was about to kick a twig away when he tripped over a tree root and fell to his hands and knees. He held up his hand to show a thorn stuck in it. Rose said when he held up his meaty paw for her to take the thorn out of it she knew he had a big dick because no guy who wasn't secure in his manhood would have the balls to be on his knees with a pricker stuck in his hand asking for help. I kind of think there's more to Rose's quest for a big dicked man, but it's a good story. Every time I hear it, I think I'm going to find the whole story cheesy, but really, it was the kind of thing I wished Jake and I had.

Rose looks at me, I feel like her question was not rhetorical and I'm too embarrassed to admit that I don't know what she means. Not any more at least.

"I guess," I'm noncommittal. I'm tired of thinking ahead.

After we return to our seats and the game has ended, Rose asks me again if I want to go to Beanie's with them but I decline and stand up in the stands and wait for Jake to find me and give me a wave. I watch as he doesn't look for me. He's talking with one of his teammates and at one point turns around, I didn't see who's caught his attention. That's cool, it wasn't like he knew for certain I was going to be at the game.

"Hey, call me tomorrow, let me know how things went," Rose says when Emmett is over talking to some friends. She hugs me. Christ, I'm not going off to battle, what the fuck is all the drama?

But I'm not a cynical bitch so I respond in kind. "Thanks Rose, I'll let you know if the reuniting is glorious or crash and burn."

I'm walking towards the back of the field house so I can catch Jake when he's leaving. My cell chimes with a message and I'm expecting it to be Charlie checking the outcome of the game, he always works third shift when there's a football game.

It's not Charlie.

-**Come over?**

Just when I think I have my life situated, I get a little punctuation mark that shouldn't make any difference, only, it makes all the difference.

And it also makes me wonder what type of tone this question is being asked in. Conciliatory? Mocking? Conniving?

My fingers hover over the keys wondering what, if any response I should type in reply. I keep walking; if I stop, I'll turn around, walk back to my truck and just drive over there. No, all I need to do is keep walking and stand in the light of the door and wait for Jake.

Fate decided to fuck me, though. I slip my phone into my pocket and finally look up. Not 10 feet in front of me is Jake, still in his uniform, tall as a statue in a park. He's not alone.

It doesn't go in slow motion, noises don't sound like they're underwater, it's nothing like books or movies. Every fucking thing is so crisp it's nearly blinding and deafening.

Jake looks strong and perfect. The spotlight around him is gold and warm and looks like the gods of forward pass plays and Coke commercials have anointed him. I watch as he gently takes the chin of some nondescript girl and leans down to give her a tender kiss. God, the bitch that ends it between us, can't even have the fucking decency to be better looking than me. I watch as she stands on her tiptoes and wraps her arms around Jake's sweaty neck.

It's beautiful and it's vile. I want to wretch at the ersatz of it.

I'm standing with my mouth hanging open in disbelief. I don't have any witty retort, I don't feel like I've been punched in the neck, I just feel like I've fucking intruded on their adoring little moment.

Maybe I breathed too loudly, or maybe Jake hears my heartbeat start to taper. Maybe he was just looking around to see if he would get caught.

"Hi," I say. I sound flat and resigned. No, actually, I sound like I knew it all along. Truth of the matter is, I'm not disappointed in Jake, I'm disappointed in myself for letting this go on for so long. I'm to blame for this drama and bullshit, never confronting him and letting him get away with cheating and lying. Maybe next time I'm at the Safeway I can go down the personal care aisle and pick me up a couple of boxes of self-respect.

I turn and start walking away. I wasn't going to be something people gossiped about while sitting at the next football game. This was a nonevent.

"Bella," Jake says halfheartedly. I don't hear him running after me.

"I'm letting it go, Jake," I say. I don't know if he heard me. It doesn't matter.

I get to my truck and pull out my phone. The motivation and reasons are all wrong, but like Carlisle said, he doesn't want a girlfriend. That's perfect, I don't want a boyfriend.

-**Yes.

* * *

**

**a/n** Yeah, you knew it was going to happen.

And for the record, the opinions from last chap about whether or not Carlisle's an ass, played out like this:

Carlisle's an ass: 62%

Jake's an ass: 29%

Pro or Indifferent to Carlisle: 10%

No opinion: 24%

As you can see, some people voiced more than one opinion which is why the totals are over 100%. It took me three weeks to figure out this math. Reviews are almost as good as nitrous oxide.


	8. Chapter 8

This chapter goes out to all those authors who write based on a schedule and post regularly, or, who are smart enough to write more than one chapter at a time.

Stephenie Meyer's Twilight, where anyone without a mate, dies. (I know I'm exaggerating. But not by that much.)

This chap refers to events from previous chapters in case you can't recall the thread of what's going on. But a quick rundown; Bella had sex with Carlisle, then he ignored her for a month, she gave him some hate head (I didn't coin that phrase,)to relay how peeved she was. She decided to rededicate herself to her and Jake's relationship, but when she went to meet Jake after the football game, she caught him kissing some other girl. In the meantime, Carlisle, in what could be called as, contritely, asked Bella over again for the night, but he asked with a question mark, and she said, yes.

All errors are mine, hopefully, there aren't too many.

* * *

Chapter Eight

Knowing that I had a relatively sure thing by going to Carlisle's, should make me go over there posthaste, but I don't always make the best decisions. I just texted him back saying **-Yes-**, I'd be there, but apparently tonight, I'm fickle. Disregarding my text to Carlisle, I dial Rosalie's number instead.

"What's happenin'?" Rosalie asks me with the least amount of exhale as possible, her voice sounding like she's talking through one of those cancer voice box devices that my grandpa had.

"Hey, sorry, I didn't realize you were busy." I need a little girl talk, not a Kush convo.

"No, you're cool, what're you up to?" I heard her exhale and know the THC will soon be fraying her already soft edges.

"I caught Jake. Just now. With some plain girl that wasn't me. Behind the field house." Suddenly, my brain isn't functioning properly and my sentences are choppy and disjointed.

"Wait, wha?" I could imagine Rose sitting up from her slump in the front seat of Emmett's car.

"I broke up with him, I think. I mean, I'm done, I didn't make a declaration really, or anything, I don't know, I've never broken up with anyone before. It was horrible and I don't even care. Is that how it's supposed to feel?" I don't think Rose had ever broken up with any one before either, but she's from upstate New York, by geography alone, she has more experience than I.

"Where are you? Wait, stay where you are, I'll be there in like 15 minutes, probably less. You're in the parking lot, yeah? Are you cool?" Where the fuck could they have gone, the game just ended like 20 minutes ago. In actuality, Rose probably has Emmett's hand down her panties. She once told me that just before she climaxed, Emmett would light a joint or bowl for her and while she was coming she would hold her breath and wait to exhale for as long as she could. I couldn't imagine why that was hot, but Rose told me I had no idea what I was missing.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I'll wait for you. I'm in the parking lot."

"Alright, just chill, I'll see you in a minute."

Sitting in my car, time has stopped completely. All I can think about are the times Jake and I fooled around in here and all his complaining because there wasn't enough room. I get out and go to sit on the back bumper to wait.

I probably should have figured this would happen, sitting here after the game with just a few trucks left in the parking lot, it was inevitable. I don't have to look up to know its Jake speaking softly to the plain girl that isn't me, but I'm kind of a masochist apparently. I look up to see his arm around her while they walk with their heads together and Jake's soothing baritone talking to her quietly.

I know it's over with Jake, if I were honest I would have realized this months ago, but regardless, it still hurts. There was a time when Jake would talk to me with his soft voice, and nuzzle my neck. I don't necessarily want Jake back, but I do want someone to care about me like he once did. Or, if I were to be candid about the matter, I don't want him to have a neck to nuzzle if I don't.

I watch as he untangles himself from her clutches and puts his hand on the small of her back to put her on path towards her truck. Maybe she's too dumb to remember which vehicle is hers, she obviously wasn't smart enough to comprehend that Jake didn't belong to her.

Apparently my stung ego overrides my hypocrisy. I wonder if I should tell Jake I also cheated.

I don't really have time to contemplate whether or not I want to tell him someone else has been inside of me, since he's making his way over to me. I hate to admit it, but he looks beautiful. His hair is damp and his broad shoulders encased by a red practice jersey, those strong hands splayed on his tight thighs as his long strides bring him closer towards me. He looks like he could be stepping off the pages of an Abercrombie catalog. I have some of those red practice jerseys that I wear to sleep in. I wonder if I have to give them back.

"Hi," he won't even look me in the eyes when he says this.

I don't say a word, I just look at him waiting to find out what kind of tale he's going to spin. I do stand up though, I don't want him looking down on me.

"I'm sorry, Bells."

After a moment or two, I reply. "You're not, really." I pause while I see his eyes look at me and widen slightly. "If you were sorry, you wouldn't have let it go on this long, and with so many girls," I add.

I watch as he tries to decide on a retort, but he stops, shutting his mouth. I continue to watch as he works up the fortitude to say his next thought.

"Bells, you know I always wanted to take care of you, you just," he scratches his forearm and looks at me. "You have faraway eyes. I don't see what you see. I'm always going to be here, but you're not."

If I were particularly nasty, I would have been pissed that he just referred to me with part of a Rolling Stones song, but I'm not that mean and take his words at face value. And if I were being honest with myself, I would understand that Jake was kind of hurt, as well.

I hear what I assume is Emmett's car, coming across the grassy parking lot to where we're standing. I wait for a car door to open, but it doesn't. Their car is behind us, idling and the headlights shine alongside of us.

"I'm sorry, Bells," Jake says again. He's looking at me this time, waiting, I guess, for me to absolve him. Or at least, say something in return.

"Yeah, I'm sorry, too." I don't have to tell him I slept with Carlisle, it doesn't really serve any purpose other than to highlight the fact that I'm just as much a liar as Jake is and telling him this would only be to hurt him, I'm not that vindictive.

"So, what, that's it?" He asks in a tentative way and I'm starting to lose patience. What kind of question is that? What else is there to say, he's fucked every snatch ever offered to him and now he wants his sweaters back or something?

"I guess I don't know what you mean?" Then it dawns on me like a tired television show, I know what he means…

"Can we be friends?"

Is that bile in my mouth? No, but complete revulsion is the most likely event. Whatever it is, it takes restraint to keep from retching.

Then I hear what sounds like a wet rag and the whine of a train on tracks. "Jake?" Like this dopey girl has some sort of claim on him. "Jakey?" Seriously, _Jakey_? Probably took her days to come up with such a clever endearment.

"Yeah, Kim, in a minute," he actually sounds irritated, which, in my sick mind, makes me feel superior.

"You can get going, we're done here." Curt, clipped, brusque, brisk; any number of these adjectives can describe my tone.

Jake actually has the audacity to look hurt. "Don't be a bitch, Bella, it doesn't suit you." He gives me what I'm certain he thinks is a meaningful look before turning to walk away.

"You know what, Jake," and I'm about a half a moment away from going against my better judgment and telling him I also got some on the side. Yes, fickle would be my word for this evening. Fortunately, Emmett's out of his car before I try and level Jake with my indiscretion.

"You okay, Bella?" Emmett says, looking dead on at my now, ex-boyfriend. Rosalie then gets out of the car and Christ if it isn't a scene for switchblades, choreographed Technicolor fight scenes with a dash of Officer Krupke's billy club.

"Yeah, Emmet, I'm fine." Maybe guys have it easier, a couple of thrown punches, a few grunts and testicle adjustments, and they move on with their lives. Me, I know when I'm alone I'm going to dissect this over and over and over again until I am able to fully blame myself for all that was wrong with this relationship.

I watch briefly as Jake makes his way over to Kim's truck, he doesn't bother to look back at me. Yes, I'll admit it, it kind of hurts. I actually want him to stop walking, turn around and run to me, drop to his knees and beg my forgiveness, all while I coolly survey him. And then, after my final summation of what he's done to me, and caused me to do, I place my (suddenly appearing) high heeled foot on his shoulder and with the daintiest of pushes, shove him back and into the dirt. Yes, that would have been nice.

Instead though, I hear Rose asking me if I want to go to the diner. Out of habit, I agree to go and hang with them.

I wonder if Carlisle is still waiting on me. Or maybe, I hope Carlisle is still waiting on me and isn't entirely too chapped off about my statement-making fellating act of last evening.

"What happened?" We're following Emmett, Rose unrolls the window and lights a cigarette.

"Not much to tell. I made a grand offering at the altar of bad timing."

Rose sighs.

"I went to declare my rededication to our relationship," I cringe to think I actually made a list of things I could do to make this travesty hobble on. "I walk up, and in the hideous green glow of the sodium vapor lights, there he was, kissing a girl who wasn't me. He didn't even try to do anything about it. I called you when I got back to my truck then he showed up with oh girl who called him _Jakey_." I totally sneer. "God, it fucking makes me want to vomit but he's not worth the energy this time."

I glance over to Rose who's looking straight ahead, the wind mussing her hair, she's absently blowing smoke towards the window; the picture of cool and calmly unaffected. Meanwhile, I struggle with this fucked up truck clutch which Jake has fixed more times than I can count, I have mud splatter all over my shoes, my hair in tangles and knots, and I wonder if Carlisle will turn me away because he no longer wants to slum it.

"We should get drunk."

I consider Rose's offer. It's not really my thing, I know there has to be a point before I start college where I at least try liquor, get drunk and vomit at some inappropriate time or place, but tonight? Not tonight, tonight I want to be inappropriate with Carlisle and be somewhere I shouldn't be which is in his stone cottage. I want to reassure my bruised ego with moves and strokes and thrusts and I want to touch the soft and hard places of his well-proportioned physique and know that for the moment, he's mine and I can do to him what I want.

"Thanks Rose, let's just," I briefly pause, "not, I don't know, I don't really want to do anything." My proverbial foot is tapping over the line of lying to my BFF. I wish I could politely tell her I want to ditch her so I could be filled to the hilt.

"Well, it's our lost weekend any way, you're welcome to join us."

"Aw, shit, Rose, I so didn't realize it was that time of year already." Emmett stops partaking in anything mildly, partially or entirely illegal, 60 days before wrestling season starts; he had to give himself enough time to detox. Rose, blindly loving in her codependency, sets aside her gateway drugs and dries out alongside him. She wouldn't be smoking anything but cigarettes stolen from her mother and beedies purchased from some head shop in the back of the used music store in Port Angeles.

"No, let's just talk about how shitty Jake was, make fun of the new girl, then you two go and uncomfortably run into him at Beanie's or the beach or wherever and then give him dirty looks and tell me what a terrible overbite and stringy hair the not me girl has, and that'll be cool. Yeah?" I look over and Rose is packing a one-hitter from a maple case Emmett made in Woodshop. Emmett's love is special that way.

"Why'd you do it?" Rose is thoughtful in her tone, she's trying to figure out my logic of wanting to make things work with Jake and I haven't given her all the pieces to the puzzle. I can't tell her about Carlisle, about the heated moment when he drew my blood, about the Apple Fest and the afternoon and evening of me stripping and riding Carlisle. And I can't tell her about how he ignored me for a month and my spiteful return of last night. As much as I'd like to tell her I only tried to make it work with Jake, is because Carlisle is too dangerous and too addicting. Rose can have her smokes and weed and lukewarm cans of cheap beer, I want to mainline Carlisle directly into the biggest, thickest, strongest vein I have and let him fill me with all of his badness, because even though I know it's wrong, I want to feel the escape. But, instead of revealing my craving, I again skirt the lines of truth and remain vague.

"I thought it was the right thing to do. I wanted to go back to the times when Jake and I had fun together, back to the beginning."

"Oh," I can tell Rose is turning this over in her mind and it's not setting well with her. "I don't think that ever really works."

I think back to when I was five years old and I saw all the mommies dropping my classmates off at school. I went home that night and asked Charlie why my mommy didn't drop me off at school, and why she didn't live with us. Uncomfortable with any type of confrontation, personal or otherwise, Charlie sort of grunted and said, "_Because she doesn't want to be here anymore_." Stew on that from the time you're five years old until present day. Okay, yeah, I get that I wasn't really the cause of it, but still, shit leaves a mark.

x

We're seated in a booth toward the back, near the bathrooms. The place is crowded; it always stays open later on nights with sporting events.

I am desperate to get in contact with Carlisle. I don't want him to have changed his mind or something else, like find another woman to fuck. One rejection a night is my limit.

"Hey, I gotta go check my messages, see if Charlie called."

I think Rosalie has her hand on Emmett's manhood, he's got a glazed look in his eyes the only thing at odds with his mastodon-like eating.

"Thanks for the play by play, hon," Rose looks up at me, her eyes twinkling.

I'm happy for their mutual distraction.

The door is locked to the restroom, I pull out my phone and actually do check my messages, and Charlie has called.

"Hi Dad," I greet as he picks up on the first ring.

"I hear Forks lost, sounds like Jake had a good game."

Yeah, Jake's _game_, irony noted, Universe.

"Yeah, I guess." Charlie wasn't paying attention to the near contempt in my voice.

"Alright, well, you probably won't see me tonight, I'm going out early to fish with Billy."

"Yeah," I can only hope fishing was an entirely silent affair where men didn't speak about their children or any events pertaining to their lives, that they just stood on a riverbank, waded into the water occasionally and washed away the fish smells with beer and cold bologna sandwiches.

"Be good, honey."

"'Bye, Dad." Evading the direct promise to _be good_, I take one step to the left to avoid any lightning strikes.

I hang up with my dad in time to look up and see Esme Cullen walking out of the bathroom, another offering of condor's blood at the altar of bad timing. I choke on some spit as my face, no doubt, is the complete look of shock. I am Bella's cold sweat.

"Isabella, darling, how delightful to see you," she puts her hand in mine, and her other hand on my now, slightly extended forearm. She daintily moves us away from the john. The way she speaks, I expect her to be wearing silks and chiffons, spinning around in marabou mule slippers and cocktail rings.

Ack, ack, ack. Is that me making that grotesquely impolite noise? "Mrs. Cullen," choking the words out that have gotten stuck in my throat, "nice to see you again."

"Esme, dear, please call me Esme." She looks at me with sparkly eyes and a Mona Lisa smile. Centuries of people haven't figured out that smirky smile, add me to the masses.

And I think that I can't call her Esme because at this very moment, I am dialing her husband to arrange copulation with him for this evening. That, most defiantly, would be outside the dictate of Emily Post.

"Uh, Esme, hi, how're you doing?" Okay, that'll pass as normal, possibly, as long as she's half deaf, 80% blind and wildly drunk, with a chaser of heavy barbiturates.

"Lovely, on my way out of town this weekend, off to Seattle. Are you here with friends?" Her interest seems genuine and I feel like I owe her an apology for all of the illicit things I've partaken in, with her husband.

But Carlisle said they have _understandings_.

Affairs are hard.

"Uh, yeah," I oaf my head towards the direction of Emmett and Rosalie and am not up for worlds colliding.

"That's nice, hanging out with friends on a Friday night." Why won't she stop talking to me?

"Yeah, it is, totally." I can't be rude, I've fucked her husband, the least I can do is try and be interested in the conversation she's forcing on me.

"So, you're enjoying Carlisle?"

Okay, I know that was a choking sound I just made. Gaping at her, she's serene and sublime with her easy confidence wielded like a scepter in a queen's hand. I need to get my shit together, navigate this encounter and ask what the fuck these _understandings_ are between Carlisle and Esme.

"Yes, I've really enjoyed working with Dr. Cullen. He's, uh, very serious in his work." Stilted? Yes. Ass covered? Hard to say.

"Yes, he is serious in his work. It's good to hear things are going well between you two." Mona's back and the enigmatic smile more puzzling than ever.

"Um, okay, I need to use the bathroom," I gracelessly stammer.

"Of course," and she winks at me, a cute, playful, I'm-in-on-the-secret-too, kind of wink. "I'll be talking with you soon." Giving my forearm a little squeeze, she turns and walks away. Stopping myself from turning into a pillar of salt, I do not turn back to look at her. I lurch into the bathroom and securely lock the door before leaning back against it.

I. Need. To. Get. My. Shit. Together.

I unclench my phone from my gripping clutches, and text Carlisle.

-**Does Esme know about us?**

I only momentarily debate on whether I should send the text or not, but hit Send anyway, he needs to come clean. If Esme is clueless to mine and Dr. Cullen's tryst, and I choose to ignore that and continue on with Carlisle, well, then, I'm no better than _Jakey's_ new girl.

My phone vibrates with a response.

-**Yes**

I might have suspected the answer was going to be, _Yes_, but it doesn't really make it any less of a bombshell.

I type out another text to Carlisle.

-**Does she care?**

A moment later my phone rings with an incoming call.

"Jesus H. Christ, what the fuck is all this about?" His anger and irritation are irrational and mean, yet, deliciously tempting. I want to sway the savage beast.

"I just had a whole conversation of double entendres with winks and squeezes with your wife. I wasn't certain if she was going to ask me for an afternoon of poetry reading, or if she was trying to find the soft spot on my back to stick a shiv in," I hiss the whole encounter to him.

"Save your dramatics, Isabella, she's not looking to shank you." Someone needs to tell Carlisle he sounds ridiculous trying to sound hardcore. Predictably, he sighs. "Are you coming over, or what?"

"Are you angry with me?" I don't want to go over there only to be sent on my way after he's chastised me for my little mouth sex move last night.

"You want to have this conversation now?" More exasperation, yet, I think my hand makes its way to my nipple. What is wrong with me? More anger and impatience from him and surely I'll find my hand down my dampened panties to help with the ache of my desire.

"I'd rather now then after I've snuck over to your house."

All so dismissively, he replies, "I'm no longer angry, you've proven your point. Is that good enough for you?"

Yes, it is, as I feel a shy smile cross my lips. I had an effect on him, even if he doesn't want to admit it. Me.

"Yes, that's good enough for me."

"I'm on the patio of the cottage, can you find your way?" His voice holds no concern for my welfare really, he's just asking me if he needs to meet me in the driveway.

"I'll be fine."

"Fine," and he hangs up. Fucking Mr. In Control, has to hang up before I do. Petty.

I slip the phone into my pocket and walk back to the table with Emmett and Rosalie.

"You were gone so long, I ate your fries," Emmett informs me, his mouth working on something other than my fries.

"Thanks, Em, your consideration is off the charts."

"I was getting low blood sugar, it was a medical thing." Mouth full, Rose's hand in his lap, smile on his face, eyes content; all is right in the world of Emmett.

"Hey, come with us tonight, yeah? Don't let Jake fuck things up for you, let's have fun." Rose offers this all so lazily, I doubt she and Emmett will last much of the night before they crash in her bed; Mummy and Daddy staging some house in PA and not home for the evening.

"Thanks, Ro, I'm gonna pass on tonight, it's been like the longest day known in existence, I'm gonna skate."

"Yeah, I'll be over in the morning."

"Yeah, 'bye Bells," Emmett said through a mouthful of Monte Cristo.

"Thanks for tonight." I'm embarrassed for needing them to support me with Jake.

"We always got your back," Rosalie says, while Emmett, keeping his eyes on his deep fried sandwich, slaps my ass as I walk away.

The drive to Carlisle's is relatively short from the diner, less than 15 minutes, but in that time I count 13 does. I hate rutting season, between the slick roads, instinctively horniness of a buck and the darting coyness of a doe, there's at least one fatality a year on this highway. Charlie is insane about me driving and really, walking. I know if I opened my glove compartment right now, I'd find a blaze orange vest for me to don while walking anywhere where leaves are present.

I pull onto Carlisle's gravel driveway and proceed slowly down towards the house. There's a garage open and empty which I pull my truck into. I don't know whether I should think Carlisle is well prepared and considerate, or just doesn't want to have my truck polluting his pristine landscaping.

It's dark, like filmed in infrared horror movie dark. I go over to my glove box and open it to find not only the blaze orange vest, but a flashlight too. I leave the vest but take the flashlight and walk the path to Carlisle's cottage.

There's another little gravel path that I follow, leading me to the patio, and it's beautiful. The sound of the not so far off river, the slightly chilled breeze warmed by the stone and patinated fire pit, small outdoor hurricane lanterns, outdoor furniture, sisal rug; add a Weimaraner and a croquette mallet and it's another cover shot for the likes of Town & Country.

I open the small barn wood gate and step in. Carlisle's not back here. I walk to the patio door and see him. He's standing at the small sideboard, unaware of my presence. I quietly slide open the door and walk through the bedroom and stand near the doorframe.

I watch as he pours himself a couple of moments worth of amber liquid from a heavy looking decanter. The whole scene looks like something that would be found at the Harvard Club or places with blood red silk moiré walls and wainscoted paneling. I wonder what he's drinking; scotch, bourbon, whiskey? My dad only drinks beer and my mom only has drinks with the word breeze, sex, orgasm or dirty in it. It would seem Carlisle's drink names have words like hard, neat, straight and stiff.

Carlisle brings the heavy looking cut crystal glass to his mouth and drinks a fair amount of the liquid down. He doesn't turn to look at me as he adds another splash of liquor to the glass. He knows I'm standing in his proximity.

"Do you want anything?"

Well, that's a loaded question.

"To drink," he adds, and looks at me with devilish dark eyes. I know my mouth locks slightly open as my tongue, of its own volition, slinks about and dances along my upper lip. I make an effort to slow my breathing and close my mouth, swallowing thickly at the effort.

"No, I'm not thirsty."

"No, nothing; not a shot of whiskey, a tempting red apple from Eden's garden? A whip and restraints?" He's taunting only for his own amusement.

"I thought we were done talking about last night?" I shouldn't have been so gullible to think he would let last night's activities go without comment.

He tips his fancy barware glass towards me in a silent gesture to my response, and then drains it in one swallow. His eyes return to mine immediately.

I am caught between being leery of him and wanting to undress him and touch him all over.

"Yes, of course, my apologies; just thinking back to when you walked out of here, while my pants were around my ankles. I lost focus for a moment, forgive me."

His tone is arid and slightly mocking, and my heart is beating faster, not by fear, but by hunger. Truly, I need to find a support group.

I ignore his comments and change the subject back to him.

"What's the story with you and Esme? I felt like she was all about our little," I vaguely gesture between us, "thing."

"Little thing?"

Oh, shock, it's about dick size.

"Be serious. She asked me if I was, _enjoying you_. Not, if I enjoy _working_ for you, but, _enjoying you_." I'm all about the exaggeration and emphasis.

Infuriatingly, he lets out a chuff of a laugh, slightly shaking his head.

"Come on, that's not funny."

"Of course it's funny, maybe not in your direct context, but it's really quite amusing. I almost wish I had been there, it would have been like a Noël Coward play." Droll, droll, droll.

"I don't know what you're talking about, but I know you're being a dick." And pompous too, but I won't push my luck.

"I don't want to spend the evening discussing my wife." He's ignoring my peevishness, which is probably for the better, but it irks me nonetheless.

"Well, neither do I, obviously." I fire back.

We stand for a few moments sizing the other up. Me, a fit of pique; he, sardonic amusement.

He speaks first. "So, what are you going to do? Are you going to leave?" His question is in his standard dismissive tone.

"No, I'm not going to leave," I'm not far from sticking out my bottom lip and pouting. I look up at him and his expression is wild spirits.

"What do you want to do then?" He takes a step closer to me, I take a small step back. He takes a small step forward and looks at me with impish devilment in his eyes.

"I broke up with my boyfriend tonight." We both freeze. I'm a senseless idiot. All I want to do is take those last words and swallow them back down and never have them leave my body as a poisonous carbon dioxide exhale. I remain glued to my spot, Carlisle advances slowly, his tongue running along his upper teeth, darkness along his brow.

He's upon me and reaches his hands and places them on each of my hips and brings me almost in direct contact with him. He leans forward to my ear and whispers, "I don't care." My toes are curling.

Indifference. Who knew indifference would be so provocative.

"Good," is all I can reply. My eyes drag over the large opening of the collar of his soft, white oxford shirt, across the strong and lean of his chest, and down to the emerging bulge of his broken-in jeans. I try my best to rein in my desire to drop to my knees and worship what I treated so callously last night. I lick my lips instead and feel my cheeks heat in embarrassment and desire. Carlisle makes a _mmm_, sound and I smile to myself like the wayward girl that I am.

He gently moves me backwards through the doorway, to his bed. The lights are off but the deep gold glow from the fire pit and candles outside make for flattering lighting of a warm glow.

"Is the power going to lay with you tonight, Isabella?"

_Isabella_. Always, I hated my ridiculous name, but Carlisle, fuck, Carlisle, he makes my panties damp and my cares melt just by saying my name. _Isabella_. My hips nearly pitch towards him in more desperate yearning. _Isabella_.

"Yes," I move his hands from my hips and push him away, just slightly, his eyes briefly widen. I take my fingers and try desperately to be cool and unbutton his shirt with confidence and control, he watches me with dark and hungry eyes. I push it off his shoulders, letting it fall quietly to the ground.

I lean forward and kiss each of his nipples, and reach down and pull off my sweater, followed by my tee and finally, to my bra.

He's watching my every movement, not saying a word, just watching. Carlisle likes to watch.

I go to unhook my bra, but he stops me. He reaches around me and flicks it open, taking a strap in each of his hands, and pulling it down and away from my chest.

"You're better than this," and he drops the offending undergarment to the floor.

I stop myself from picking an argument with his dismissing of my Victoria's Secret bra and panty set. It took me two paychecks to save up for it.

He continues to usurp my control. Reaching down he unbuttons and unzips my jeans and pushes them down over my hips, I toe off my Vans and remove my pants the rest of the way so now I'm just standing in my panties. But he still has his pants on, I better regain some authority to remedy the situation.

I take the small step between us and reach to trail my finger down his sternum, his abdomen and to the delicious trail of hair. Temporarily forgotten are thoughts of his wife and my now, ex-boyfriend.

"Have you thought about me, late at night, when everyone's asleep and the rain pelts the roof?" Carlisle asks me with a deep voice as I undo each button on the fly of his pants. He remembers what I told him last time I was in this room.

"Yes," I hiss out, trying desperately to stay in control and lead him, not be led. I finish the buttons and run my hand along the outside fly of his boxers, from base to tip. He lets out his own hissing noise.

"And tell me, did you touch yourself here?" He draws his fingertips along my neck and collarbone down to my breast and areola, gently circling before pinching my already erect nipple. The pain is pleasurable.

"Yes," my eyes gently close, my mouth slightly open and my breathing getting heavier.

"And even though you thought I was being a complete cad, you thought about me when you touched yourself? Yes?" If I wasn't recalling myself doing all the things he's saying, I'd tell him that he was spot on with the _cad_ evaluation.

"Yes," my reply is a sibilant whisper. I push the pants down from his hips and he makes no move to remove them for me. I will not stoop to take his clothes off the rest of the way. Carlisle watches while I stick out my tongue and lick my thumb, slip my hand through the fly opening of his boxers and gently wrap my hand around the underside of his cock and take my wetted digit and circle the tip. I watch as his shoulders and back slowly arch.

Carlisle ups the ante. He reaches around and runs his fingertip along my spine making me arc my back forward, in turn, thrusting my breasts out. He palms my entire breast with his free hand and leans forward to my ear. "And did you want to be back here, in my bed?"

My breathing now stutters, the flat of his hand presses against the small of my back and brings me towards him. I offer little resistance. "Yes. Yes, I did, I wanted to be back here. I tried to get my boyfriend to do the things you did to me, but he couldn't." Are we still playing this game of back and forth, and did I just expose too much of my want?

"Of course he couldn't do the things I did to you." _Of course_, this was more male chest-beating, knuckle-dragging bravado, but honestly, he was nothing but correct.

And my next question is going to make or break me and I'm a fool to ask it, but again, tonight I need some reassurance that I'm more than some girl who gets blatantly cheated on.

"Did you want me back in your bed?" Well, if I wasn't laid bare and exposed before, I surely am now.

"You need to ask that question?" His answer is not soft and warm, it's a fiery stance. "You're very dangerous, Isabella." I don't want to analyze if danger, is the only thing that keeps his interest. No, I will think that my being dangerous is one of many beguiling traits that have him interested in me.

He bends to remove his pants, leaving his boxers on, the front is all tented. He sits me down on the edge of the bed. My desire is palpable, dripping from the walls of this room, oozing from my fingertips, licking at the curls of my hair. My breathing is still shallow, my chest in small heaves as I try to stop myself from reaching out to him.

"You like that thought, don't you?" He reaches again and trails a finger halfway down the front of my body, my nipples nearly pucker at the slight touch. I do like that answer, any self-doubt is forgotten with his touch.

Our tango continues, but I don't think I'm leading any more, if I ever was.

He brings my legs up to the bed, I move back to the pillows and wait. He moves so he's over me and reaches down and pulls my panties off. My breathing hitches and stops as I wait, my eyes are wide, my mouth still partially locked open with my tongue moving about lazily.

He moves off of me and props my legs up in a bent position.

"I don't think I'm dangerous."

"Don't play coy, you're better than that." He chastises me lightly. "Besides, your body is telling me you're anything but coy." I watch as he leans forward and takes his index finger and drags it up my slit, gathering the wet and circling my clit. I hear a throaty murmur that must be coming from me, but otherwise, I'm floating on the edge of an outer body experience.

Our back and forth banter, Carlisle's sexually charged mocking, my demanding nature of him; it all flows into the physical foreplay. And, Carlisle knows a woman needs foreplay. He continues to stroke and dip into me torturously and I scoot myself down the pillows and open myself up wider for him. Jake who?

"Carlisle," my breathy speech is genuine. "Please, I don't want to come like this, I want you inside of me." I like asking for what I want.

He ignores me though, and brings his head between my thighs and replaces his finger with his tongue inside of me and I reach over and with sexually-induced enthusiasm, grab my breast and squeeze before pinching my nipple like Carlisle had before, with the pleasurable pain. More noises are made by me and I'm not embarrassed by them. My other hand has gone to my tormentor's head and I roughly run my fingers through his hair.

And now he's back and kisses me slowly and unhurriedly bringing his tongue into my mouth and playing with mine. The taste is proof of my arousal and strong alcohol, it's fucking intoxicating. He nips my bottom lip before speaking again.

"Do you think I'm going to let you come so quickly?" He says against my neck as he starts to inch down my body again.

I grip the duvet, but without needing to cast a glance, he unclenches my hand. He's a smooth fucker, that one. I return to touching my breast and play. My panting breaths continue and I enjoy the delicious torture he's unleashing on me.

His kisses are at my knee now, slowly traveling up and stopping at my inner thigh. Oh, he's so close to kissing me _there_, again, but he won't, he's studiously involved with the frustratingly close, soft skin that's nearby. The devastating bastard that he is.

But now, as he continues to kiss and suck on my thigh, he brings a finger, then two, inside of me, his thumb every once in a while, touching my anxious clit. It's just enough contact to make be squirm. If I had a clear head, I would note that Jake could barely walk and chew gum at the same time. Fortunately, though, my head is foggy and filled with parts of this man between my legs.

"Please, Carlisle," my rasping voice begs, "please, be inside of me."

As worked up as I am, I know tonight will only yield, if I'm lucky, one orgasm. It's late, and I've lived a lot of life in this one, long day. I want the feel of him rubbing, and shoving and pushing and slamming against my inner walls. I want to feel as much of him against me as possible.

"You want me to be inside of you, is that what you want, Isabella?" The delicious bastard asks against my clit, licking me on the L's of my name.

I want nothing more than to tell him that no, he's just being cruel for the sake of taunting me, but I hold my tongue and wait for him to decide he can no longer stand to tease me. I don't answer him and let him continue to keep me in sexual purgatory.

I do add some extra moans and writhes and fingers through his hair, though. I believe this might be referred to as, feminine wiles.

He licks me some more, his tongue wet with my desire, and comes back up to kiss me again, the liquor taste fading and replaced by my flavor.

"Seems like someone is close," his casual confidence only adds to his beautiful wickedness. I don't have to say anything for him to know he's correct.

He finally removes his boxers as he half stands up to reach over to the nightstand to get a condom. I wonder how he would feel bare and inside of me. He unrolls the latex over him and gets back on the bed and pulls me down further and hooks his hand beneath my knee and brings it upwards and leans down to me.

He slides into me, and, the underlying gentleman that he is waits for me to adjust to his size, just like he did last time we were together. After a few moments, he pulls out and pumps back into me firmly and swiftly.

"Ohh," I close my eyes as my shoulder blades contract inward. He continues to do this for several more thrusts, his hand not leaving the back of my knee.

I reopen my eyes to watch him pull his gaze up from my breasts and he settles his dark look onto me.

He lets my leg go and I wrap them around his waist.

"What you did last night," he says, as he pushes into me again, gripping my hips. If I wasn't working up to a frenzy, I might be leery of what his next words would be. "Don't ever," hard thrust for emphasis, "do that again."

"I won't have to if you keep doing this to me." Surprised I could form a sentence given the fact that I'm being filled to the hilt, I make a mental note to work on my dirty talk. I wonder how one goes about doing that?

"Is that what you want?" Seems I've been asked this question once already.

"Do you?" I counter.

He grabs my hips tighter and I know I'm going to have bruises. I imagine he's going to come soon, he's brought his finger down to my clit and is circling, his jaw becoming tenser and tighter.

Oh sweet gods and monsters, my hips buck up and down as I can no longer hold back. "Ohhh, fuck." My fingernails dig into his upper arms.

"Language, Isabella," he says through nearly gritted teeth, and he stills and arches as he too, comes.

His eyes are closed and his beauty is astonishing. Long, dark blond eyelashes, dark red lips, slight scruff of whiskers, his hair disheveled by me, I'm taking a mental snapshot to file it away for the next time I am without this contact.

Without words, he pulls out of me and moves to clean himself up, leaving me on the bed alone. Maybe last time I would have been offended by this, but not tonight, I welcome the lack of speech and before I stop myself, I roll over and fall into a heavy slumber.

x

I wake, sleeping on my side, sweating like farm worker during harvest, because Carlisle's strong arm is around my side, his hand nestled between my thighs. Opening my eyes, I see that everything is lit from the partially sunny sky.

Wait. Fuck. What time is it?

I get out of bed, and pick up my clothes from the floor and dance around trying to get dressed.

Crap, I'll be doing the walk of shame leaving the home of the town's doctor.

Okay, deep breaths and calming thoughts.

Fuck, I'm practically in a meadow and I am still near hyperventilation.

Carlisle has rolled to the other side, pulling the duvet down to his waist. Fuck, that isn't helping me make a speedy exit.

Focus, Bella!

I go into the bathroom and fish out an elastic from my pocket and try to calm my tresses. Shit! My hair looks like Amy Winehouse's.

I leave and make my way back to my truck and rumble out of there, looking along the highway again to make certain their no other cars before I pull out.

I pull into my driveway and sitting on the bottom step of the front stoop is Rose, smoking a cigarette. Climbing out, I leave my book bag in the front seat to not tip my hand that I haven't been home since yesterday morning.

"Jesus, someone looks rode hard and put away wet."

"Your wry wit is not lost on me." Deflect, deflect, deflect. I must not say anything else.

"Where are you coming from?"

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

"Just out," I shrug my shoulder and try to make it look like I was having deep thoughts while driving around town. I am now, for the second time this weekend, lying to my best friend.

"Really? Because the finger mussed hair and whisker burn on your neck, sort of tells another story." Okay, well, she doesn't sound annoyed or pissy, good sign.

I don't say anything and let myself into the house, she's trailing right behind me.

Fuck, yesterday's mail is lying on the ground. I casually pick it up like it's from today, and flip through it nonchalantly.

"What's going on?" I try to sound unbothered.

"I came by to see if you wanted to go to breakfast and gripe about Jake's bent peter and lack of staying power. It seems like you may have already forgotten about it though." Rose's expression is bright and she's waiting for me to spill, fuck if that's going to happen.

"Where's Emmett?" I'm trying every ploy I can think of to take the focus off of me.

"I had to leave, Emmett was snoring like a hyena with a deviated septum. God, if he breaks his nose again this season, he's going to become a fulltime mouth breather."

I laugh, hoping this will be a shiny object to distract Rose from my appearance.

"Yeah, let's go to PA and get something to eat, that sounds good. I just need get some money from upstairs." And brush my hair, teeth and wash my face and change clothes and look like the good girl I used to be.

And then, since the gods of good timing have apparently hexed me but good this weekend, a small envelope of fine stationary, addressed to me, falls to the floor. I bend down to pick it up and see the return address, engraved on the back, which reads, _Mrs_. _Esme Cullen_.

* * *

**a/n **thanks to all who have continued to review and alert and fav, ffn has been sketchy sending notices of reviews (and alert and faves,) so thanks, if I didn't say so before.

I listened to Lenny Kravitz's, _If You Can't Say No_, and to Wilco's, _I Am Trying To Break Your Heart_, a lot while writing this chap, kind of my breakup music. Some other breakup music? And I'll spare you the secret that I like to listen to old school Madonna when I clean my home, that might be kind of embarrassing. Oops.

To all the moms out there, hope you enjoy your Sunday and have french toast with cleaned up kitchens.


	9. Chapter 9

Posting an update on hump day.

Many thanks to Zoya Zalan for the shout out for Dirty Carlisle, that was cool.

SM's Twilight, why was Emmett the only one who didn't get a storyline? The most we got on him was he wrestled a bear, got mauled and Rosalie carried him away to be changed. He had muscles and that was his super-vampire power? Really?

Okay, so this idea I had for Esme was kind of the reason I started to write this story.

Errors are all me.

* * *

Chapter Nine

It's one of those moments where the measure of time is lost and pieces go missing and movement is not necessarily linear. And, I might be seeing spots, too.

_Mrs. Esme Cullen_. Somewhere in the back of a drawer within the Cullen house, there is a little copper engraving plate that held that name, only all backwards, .nelluC emsE .srM

And it didn't say, _Mrs. Carlisle Cullen_. No, her name was perfectly intertwined with his, they were a pair. She is pepper and he is salt. I was more like crappy cream of tartar, something that isn't palatable and only serviceable when used with something else.

_"So, you're enjoying Carlisle?"_ Esme's inquiry is played back in my head. But now, instead of her own little private joke and pleasant display, in my mind's eye her lip has become sneering and her Chanel red-coated talons are coupled with a menacing voice.

Then again, I could be going off the deep end. Maybe this was a chain letter and I was supposed to send her a dollar. That might explain how Dr. and Mrs. Cullen were Forks' lone answer to the glitterati. Esme would grift across the lower 48 in little pyramid schemes keeping herself occupied while Carlisle practiced medicine and played doctor with bevies of creamy skinned 18 year old girls that would line up to lose the last of their innocence to the sharp-tongued and deliciously aloof man.

Or she could possibly be writing me to ask why I'm fucking her husband.

The casual grip my hand has on her letter is in complete discord to my thudding heartbeat and throbbing brain. I cannot sustain this much blood flaming my body. I wipe my forehead at phantom perspiration.

What if her revenge is this letter that she's coated in some poisonous white powder? God, my adultery could be wheezing and killing the mail carrier as I speak. The FBI is going to know I had an illicit affair with a married man. There's no way I could hide that from Charlie, he'd ground my shit in jail.

"You gonna rock that freshly fucked look or what?" Rose's snapping fingers return me from my crime and punishment.

"Yeah, I'll be down in a minute," my eyes moving to blink away the images of Mrs. Esme Cullen causing me mortal peril and leaving chips of red nail polish in her wake.

"And take a shower, your scent is not entirely your own," Rose yells when I get to the top of the stairs.

Halfway through my shower, I realize it's Saturday and I have to work the 10 – 6 shift, just like I've done for the past two years, it was like Carlisle fucked the responsibility right out of me.

Sex make Bella dumb.

"Rose, I can't do breakfast, I forgot I have to work," I say, walking into my room to find Rose lying on top of my never slept in bed. She's displeased.

"Come on, blow it off, it's one Saturday."

"I can't, it's like the busiest time of year, everything's in season, fish, deer, bears—" Rose cuts me off, holding up her hand.

"Alright, I don't want the specifics of what's going to be hanging in Emmett's garage this weekend."

Emmett's dad, Mr. McCarty, was the quintessential hunter, if he could kill something with a rock and bare hands, he would, instead though, he was a bow hunter. More skill, challenge and finesse doing it that way, according to him. And he didn't take his kills to the processor to dress, he did that task himself. I once made the watershed error of walking into the garage and seeing a doe and a buck hanging from hooks mounted from the ceiling. A sight not easily forgotten and I only ate soup for a month after that visual.

I unwrapped my hair from the towel and wound it into some semblance of grooming. Looking at the clock, I had 45 minutes before I had to be to Newton's.

"So, where were you last night, you know, after you _turned in early_?" Statement made complete by irony dripping air quotes.

Maybe if I blink real hard this will all get fuzzy and fade away.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm trying to make this all go away."

"By what, having a seizure?" Rose is amused, maybe this is amusing enough that she'll forget she's asking questions about my life. "What's your problem? Where were you last night?" She's curious now and I feel myself being backed into a corner with nowhere to run and escape, just like a rat being caught in a grain shed.

I don't say anything and Rose scrunches up her forehead because she can't understand the way I'm acting.

"Wait, you didn't sleep with Jake last night, did you?" Her question is filled with both curiosity and disgust.

"No." Jake was already a very distant memory. At least I could be honest with Rose on one point.

"Okay," is said exaggeratingly. "Who was the mystery man?"

There it was, point blank and I'm firmly wedged in that corner. I've almost been caught and things have barely begun.

I remain silent, pulling clothes out of my drawer. Turning around, Rose is looking at me with wide eyes and her mouth is hanging slightly open.

"You're kidding me?" Rose no longer sounds amused. "You're not going to tell me?"

I'm horrible. I don't deserve to have a friend, much less a friend like Rose. I mean for fuck's sake, she offered to go down on me for mine and Jake's benefit, I'm fairly certain friends as selfless as Rose don't come around everyday. Jessica Stanly has never offered to go down on me, and I've known her a lot longer than I've known Rose.

I think I kind of hate myself right now. Well, no, I don't _think_, I'm certain I do hate myself right now. _Bella_ and _friend_, should never exist in a sentence together, that's how much I don't deserve to ever be called a friend.

"Ro, I'm sorry." And truly I am. Not even looking her in the eyes, I'm giving her the upper hand, waiting for her to acknowledge my apology and possibly accept it.

Rose is silent for the next several moments. I don't know what to do with myself, I'm anxious, because of Rose and because I need to get to work on time.

"So," she draws out and I bring my eyes to look at her, but she's fiddling with a calendar on the wall. "You're not gonna tell me who the guy is?"

"No," I say firmly but not sharply. There's no room for discussion on that point.

"May I ask you something else?"

"I guess." I wanted to put some sort of qualifiers on my answer, like, _you can ask me something else as long as it doesn't have anything to do with this, this and that._ But I don't, I can always refuse to answer something and deal with the consequences.

"You're okay, right? I mean, you're doing something you want to be doing, yeah?" Any traces of humor or anger are gone and replaced with earnest concern and no judgment.

"Yeah, Rose, I'm completely okay." It's all I say, she turns to look at me and confirm the lightness of my tone.

"Alright then. Sweet."

I remember those gold stars my classmates and I would earn in first grade when we had done something well or something nice for one of the other students. I want to give Rose a whole sheet of gold stars, but better because she is way more special than a piece of sticky gold foil.

"Okay, so you have to work now, what're you doing tonight? Hang out with me and Emmett, yeah?"

"Sure, probably, I don't finish until six and I gotta make dinner for Charlie, so after that, give me a call." Rose always made a point to ask me to go out with her and Emmett but I usually declined thinking Jake and I would do something, but that wasn't something I had to worry about anymore. Besides, Jake would usually bail and I would sit around with Charlie watching reruns of MacGyver, he has it on VHS.

"Cool, we're going to the beach, probably," Rose made her way to the top of the stairs to leave so I could finish getting ready for work. She pauses and looks at me, then reaches over and gives me a hug, I'm completely thrown.

"What was that for?"

"I'm glad you're not wallowing about Jake, I didn't want to have waste time talking yang about him, he's not really worth it, you know? I mean, look at what he had, you, someone who's smart and kinda funny and beautiful, and he was too lame to see it."

My love for Rose is reaffirmed and I want to have some sort of ceremony in Vermont with her. I actually have tears in my eyes and I hug her back.

"God Ro, everyone knows you're beautiful outside, but your insides are the best of all."

"God, stop, I'm gonna need some insulin if you keep it up," but I catch a small smile at the corners of her mouth and I hope I'm not worst friend in the world.

I walk Rose out the door telling her I'll call her later and run back upstairs to get my stuff to go.

And then I see it. The letter. It suddenly has a phosphorescent green glow to it, and it's scary. And it's lying right there on the violet desk blotter set my dad got me for Christmas when I was nine.

Charlie. I don't think I'm a daddy's little girl anymore in light of the radiating letter on my desk.

I look at the desk set Charlie had gotten me. Every year he drives an hour each way to Port Angeles, parks his car and walks into the nearest store he thinks will have something "girly." His intent is sweet and lovely despite the outcome of his yearly trek to buy me something. Last year he parked between the hardware store and the dry cleaner, he gave me a new laundry basket and 10 coupons for free dry cleaning. He said he thought it might be something I would need since I was growing up. I slept with the laundry basket in my room for a week because it reminded me how lucky I was in the Dad category.

I have to get to work and I think I would rather spend the day worrying about what this letter might say as opposed to knowing what this letter says. I take a tissue and pick up the envelope and set it on the top shelf of my closet. It's in the dark where I want to be.

x

The rest of the day was slightly out of focus and mostly blurry. Somehow Mrs. Newton had known I broke up with Jake and she wanted me to gossip about myself. Why would she think I'd want to talk about myself?

After I extricate myself from her busybody clutches, I get home and Charlie has left me some pizza and a note saying he'll be out the night playing cards on the res.

Somewhere in my mind it registers that sitting around with the guys playing pinochle has never taken all night before and I'm immediately grossed out at what other things take place all night.

With the house to myself, I fortify my psyche and move towards my room. I have a letter I have to face. Another step and I'm closer to the closet.

I'm can feel the pulsing of _Mrs. Esme Cullen's_ letter, it's like my own little tell-tale heart hell. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

I turn on every single light in the house, realize I'm being ridiculous and turn them off again.

I go upstairs and the sound is pulsating.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

I walk into my room, half expecting it to be glowing, ghastly and spine chilling. But it's not, it's the same room as always. My dramatics are exhausting. If I'm going to play in the deep end, I need to either fully commit to it, or walk away without another thought or action. Either put up, or shut up. Another of Renee's little pat sayings skipping through my mind trying to find purchase to ground me.

I take, what I think are adult steps, and open my closet door. I feel around for a moment and find the letter I laid there this morning, pull it down and walk over to my bed to open it.

Because the letter is so pretty, I don't want to just run my finger under the flap and rip it unceremoniously. I get up and walk downstairs and grab the letter opener and bring it back to my room and recommence the opening of Mrs. Esme Cullen's communiqué. If this letter is horrible, I can also use the opener to impale myself. Good, multi-purpose object.

The envelope is the same color green of their home and it's lined with a classic Florentine design, all peacock blues with golds and greens. I pull out the folded note card and in the center is fancy gold script with her initials, the C is in the center and more prominent than the other two letters. It's like her monogram was telling me she held the claim to Carlisle.

I don't want claim to Carlisle, but I don't need a reminder I have none.

I take a deep breath and open the card.

So far, no sign of chemical powders. Not surprisingly, her script is finishing school perfect, and instead of the jet blank ink present on the page, it looks like it should be written in gold gilt and have a deep red wax seal. I read her short note over and over, trying to find clues of hate and malice or even just some threat. No, instead it's like her words are winking at me, like she likes to do, and I don't know how to construe her epistle.

_Lovely Bella,_

_I have been terribly remiss in my invitation to have you over for a light repast. Please call my mobile at your earliest convenience so we can arrange a girls' night, together._

_With warmest regards,_

_Esme Cullen_

206-555-5425

A light repast? What am I supposed to do with this? It's like being asked to dinner with the executioner. An executioner with overreaching and displaced decorum in the backwoods of Forks. I mean, she can't even have a local area code. Charlie would say she's, _hoity-toity_.

I think I can't call her tonight, it's Saturday, and people don't make plans for the week on a Saturday night. I won't call her on Sunday, because Sundays are a day of rest, spent with family and not making plans with your husband's _piece on the side_. Monday. I'll call her Monday. Monday's are never anyone's favorite day of the week, it's the day the furthest away from the weekend, laundry day and fresh sheets and taking out the trash. I'll call her on trash day.

x

The evening is spent with Rose and Emmett and my fellow classmates. After trying my first warm, watery beer and listening to music on the beach and watching people pair up and disappear to back seats of cars or behind logs of driftwood and blankets, I realize I haven't missed out too much on high school life. Sure, this must be fun for some, but I'm preoccupied and don't have the interest to find a new love of my life amidst the same guys I've known since forever. Yeah, there are a few unfamiliar faces, probably guys who got sick of their local talent pool, looking for fresh chances by girls who don't know all the shitty stuff about them, but I have no interest in investing my time like that.

Some guy gave me his phone number, I didn't want to give him mine, so I made some excuse and gave him my phone so he could program it in. On the car ride home I erased it without even bothering to remember what his name was.

Another time I could wonder if it was a missed opportunity, but for now I can only think about a light repast and other such low lying threats.

x

Monday at school is buzzing about Mike and Jessica finally hooking up, I think he fucked her boobs. If I had a dick I'd fuck Jess's boobs too, they really were spectacular, and I have to give her credit, nice tits and a 3.65 GPA.

People are a little friendlier towards me than normal, I guess because I finally went to a party and am no longer dating a boy from another school. Funny how those things work.

After school, and after my Lit Mag meeting, Rose walks with me out to the parking lot. She's waiting for Emmett to finish practice.

"What's with you today?" She asks as I try to find my car keys.

"What d'ya mean?" I'm not oblivious, I know I was not fully engaged today. The thought of facing the wife of the man I've slept with has weighed heavily on me, I expect it would on most.

Rose lights a cigarette. Mrs. Hale has switched brands. Gone are her fancy tipped Nat Shermans, Rose told me they were too expensive and too difficult to get, she's switched to some other brand that she can pick up at the gas station. Rose hasn't been pleased about the matter.

"I don't know, you've just been," pause and a wave of her hand, "blank. Since Saturday night, actually."

"I don't know, just stuff going on, I guess."

She doesn't say anything and like a pull-string doll, I keep chatting, even though I don't need to.

"It was weird, being at that beach on Saturday. Jake and I used to go there after we first started going out, we'd spend nights on the beach. Which, under any other circumstance would have been totally scary, but Jake cared so much at that point, I knew he would protect me. Isn't that dumb to think of stuff like that, especially after what we turned into." It was true. Standing along the water, watching the water roll in and out, eating away at the shoreline so slowly, I felt a melancholia roll over me, eating away at me, just like the erosion happening at my feet. I had stopped tabulating all of the missed opportunities and bad decisions we had made together and apart. Jake and I ruined each other.

"Don't do this." Rose says firmly, and I remain quiet. "I know what you're going to do, you're going to sit around and work as hard as you can to bring this all back to you to blame yourself. Doing that would be stupid. It's no one's fault, solely, alright? You understand that?"

In theory, I understood it, and she's completely correct, and had I never fucked Carlisle, I would feel a whole lot differently. But I have fucked Carlisle, and had wanted to for a year. If I had any idea that that was an opportunity, I would have plotted to do so. As it happens, the opportunity just presented itself. And opportunity only knocks once, right?

"I get it, Rose. I just feel like I'm no better than Jake was."

She pauses at this statement, and I realize she has no idea or timeline of my descent into the world of adultery and I was not going to outline it for her. I appreciate and love Rose, but this is my secret and not one single person on this entire planet can keep a secret. The minute the phrase of, "don't tell anyone", is uttered, it might as well become public record. So I do what, up until recently, I never really had to do, I cover my ass.

"Neither of us was honest with the other, and it just spiraled out of control in some ways. I should have been smart enough to just end it and let Jake go live his life and maybe, someday, try and salvage the friendship we had before. We were good friends." None of this is a lie, in fact, it was one of the most truthful statements I've made of late, and the sad thing was, I only told her all of this stuff because I didn't want her to ask me about other stuff. All of this _stuff_ can get to be overwhelming.

"I'm gonna go, I've got to go do some laundry."

"Call me tonight, yeah?" Rose drops her cigarette to the blacktop and stubs it out with her shoe.

"You know it," I say and climb into my truck, grinding it to life. Stupid fucking clutch.

Charlie's working second shift this month, 3:00PM to 11:00PM. He could be a dick about scheduling and always take the first shift, but there's only eight guys on the force, most are married and have young kids at home, Charlie knows I can take care of myself. Months when he works a late shift, I try to bring him dinner, and if I can't, I make certain to pack him some sort of heat and eat or bag lunch. If I didn't, Charlie would have to move the seat back in the cruiser to accommodate his paunch, no one wants to see a paunchy chief of police, kind of lessens the effect of authority.

I get home and put in a load of laundry, moving the morning's wash to the dryer. I go into the kitchen and take the chicken out of the fridge and prepare to roast it, taking extra effort to use garlic and pulling all the thyme off the stem and mix it with some oil to flavor the bird.

But what I'm really doing is stalling. I told myself I was going to call Esme today, and I haven't yet. Individual thyme leaves should not be an excuse, even if they taste nice.

Back to my room, pawing the top shelf of my closet, I retrieve the letter. And was also glad to note we received mail today, so the mail carrier had not been poisoned and wheezed off to death by my mail. I think I'll chalk that one up to the "Win" column.

Quit stalling, a repast of destiny awaits.

I dial her number and hope it goes to voicemail. No, wait, I don't, then I'll spend way more time worrying about when and if she'll call me back.

Please, please, please answer.

"_This is Esme Cullen_," she answers and even her phone voice is the sound of crystal clear perfection. It's all rising and falling and confident lilting, and I am certain my tongue's suddenly going to swell up and I'm going to develop a lisp and will turn banal words to curses. _Ask_ becomes _ass_, or _shift_ becomes _shit_. I can just imagine me saying, "_I'm thorry, Ethme, let me ass you, can we shit the day to Thurthsday_?"

"_Hello_?" The calm voice says on the other end.

"Hi, Esme, um, it's um, Isabella Swan, hi." I shouldn't be stunned at my lack of cleverness.

"Oh, Bella, how lovely, I'm so glad you called." She keeps talking, fortunately letting my brain just absorb for a few moments. "I was hoping you could come over one night this week, maybe tomorrow, or Wednesday? You know, Dr. Cullen works late those nights, it can be just the two of us."

Silence.

I think I'm supposed to answer now.

"Um, yeah, that would be great, let's do that."

"Oh, you're precious, what day, sweetie?" I can hear the slight amusement in her voice and I imagine she's laughing _at_ me since I'm not laughing at myself at the moment.

"Oh, uh, tomorrow, I have Student Council until 4:30, so whatever time is best for you."

"Student government, how fun, I bet you rule with an iron fist."

"Uh, no, it's a democratic process," I answer and wonder what her high school was like.

"Of course it is, I was just being droll." I think I can actually hear her giving herself a gin induced, closed mouth smile. Very country club. After some more uncomfortable silence, she speaks again, maybe she's been waiting for me to laugh at her drollness. "Why don't you be over around 5:30?"

"Yeah, yes, no problem, sounds good." Ramble on, sing my song. Fuck, I need to get myself the opposite of mangled. Remembering somewhere in my childhood, I learned manners, I think to add, "Is there anything I can bring? A side dish or salad or something? Dinner rolls? Fruit?" Maybe I should have started at the top of the food pyramid and worked my way down.

"That's sweet, but no. I've been obliged to learn how to cook, it's so difficult to go out to eat around here unless you want hamburgers and soft serve." Her voice has the slightest bit of clip to it and I can picture her mouth downturned.

And, as much as I hated to agree with her though, she was right.

"Um, okay, so I'll see you tomorrow, then. Thank you, Mrs. Cullen." I realize my mistake.

"Esme," she corrects. "See you soon, Bella." And she ends the call without waiting for me to embarrass myself further.

x

School was endless. Worse than yesterday, because now I know the date and time of my comeuppance. I barely spoke to anyone and went to the library instead of lunch; the walls of my stomach were eating away at one another enough to keep me from feeling any hunger. I imagine it is a roiling, fiery pit down there, filled with acid and nerves that no prescription drug could appease.

I don't care if I'm being dramatic today.

Student Council is its own special rung of hell.

I am Student Council Secretary. Each class had its own governing body, then there is us; President, Treasurer and Secretary, we kind of keep watch over each class, we are the checks to their balances. Today is the day each class gives us a progress report, scheduling fundraising and activities and sharing their budget.

During elections last year, this all seemed like a good thing to do, something that would look good and responsible and community serving on college transcripts.

Today, I don't give a fuck if they knocked over a liquor store filled with old ladies and three-legged puppies to pay for the Mistletoe Mood or the Spring Fling.

The gavel had barely been struck before I was pushing back against my chair and making my way home to get prepared for my repast with Esme.

I do, however, stop at the supermarket and to pick out some flowers. I should have gone to the florist / gift shop, but that place always smells funny and I just didn't want to have to wade through the stuffed animals and coffee mugs to see that their selection was no better than the market.

I left with a potted chrysanthemum, it's a nice season specific flower and she can plant it in her backyard of she wants. It's the color of dried blood.

Clothes are another matter. And now I wish I had told Rose everything so she would be over here to pick something out for me that quietly screamed confidence and didn't look middle, middle class.

I find a black skirt that's not too short, I consider my khaki skirt but it seems too safari-ish. Tops are a whole other obstacle. I put on a navy sweater then realize black and navy look ugly together. I have a white blouse, but then I look like a coffee shop manager, or like I'm going to work in Dr. Cullen's office. I can't wear one of Jake's old sweaters, that looks sloppy and besides, it still smells like Jake, and I don't need that. Finally, I decide on a grey sweater that's only slightly too small. Grey. Black. Not too hard to read into the subtext of this outfit.

I slip on my flats that I wear to work on Thursdays and Fridays, grind my truck back to life and lurch my way to the Cullen Compound. I wonder if I'll make the drive back.

"Bella, please, come in," Esme moves away but not before taking my unwilling hand and pulling me inside. At least I'll be chopped up into a million bitty little bits surrounded by custom covered furniture, plaster walls, coved ceilings and artwork I'm fairly certain the Cullens don't buy from a hotel convention center.

"Oh, here, I thought you'd like this for your garden," I hand her the dark red and purplish colored potted flower that I tied a little bow around. It looks cheap and skimpy even to my unworldly eyes.

"Thank you, that's very sweet of you." I notice she doesn't bring it into the house with her, instead setting it on the porch, away from the front door. She daintily holds her hands in front of her like the dirt offends her.

We walk into kitchen and I stand next to the massive French butcher block, she'll probably hack me up on this very European antiquity.

"What can I get you to drink?"

"Um, whatever you're having is good," I trail off without any veneer of composure.

"No, dear, I'm having a bloody mary," she turns to wink at me which effectively scares me shitless. "I'll make you a virgin mary."

Gulp.

She sets the sweaty red drink down in front of me a few moments later complete with a leafy piece of celery sticking out of it. What am I supposed to do with this, stir my drink, or eat it with leaves and all? I do neither and try to drink with the vegetable sticking out of the glass. My cheek is wet from the leaves and I've just dribbled some red down my chin and onto the chopping block, I quickly wipe it away so it's not obvious I'm completely unsophisticated. I wonder what other struggles will be set forth during this evening repast. My biggest fear is having oysters on the half shell or like, having to suck the marrow out of bones or something.

"How does vichyssoise sound?"

"Um, French?" Adult small talk is dull.

"It's cold potato soup, I think you'll like it." I have no idea if that's a warning that I'm supposed to tell her I like it, regardless if I do or not, or if she somehow knows my palette's preferences.

"Sounds good," I falter out.

I wonder when we're going to get to the meat and potatoes of this girls' night.

"We're having veal limone for our entre," and she brings the poor little baby cow cutlets and takes the flat side of a meat tenderizer and begins to pound the pink pieces of meat into flat submission.

I try to swallow, but it gets stuck halfway. I go to take a sip of my drink and get a leafy poke in my eye.

"Um, Esme, do you mind if I get myself a glass of water?"

"Yes, you know where the glasses are." Her back is to me and she loosely gestures to a cabinet.

She says it so casually, and it's not even a question.

"Um, I don't know where the glasses are." I want to make that point clear. Which is really pointless anyway, she knows Carlisle and I have slept together. I just want her to know I haven't slept with him in her home. Because that's so much more respectable.

"There's cucumber water in a pitcher in the refrigerator, help yourself."

This woman has a thing about putting vegetables in her drinks.

"So, you've lived in Forks your whole life?" Esme asks me while she squeezes some lemons. She seems to have a lot of strength, just squeezing and extracting the juice with her bare hands. I barely tear my eyes away to focus on her question.

"Mostly, I lived with my mom in Phoenix a little less than a year, but then I moved back in with my dad." That was Renee's last attempt at being a mother. She does much better in short spurts over long stretches. We've scheduled Sunday phone calls as mother-daughter time.

"Let's move into the dining room and start on our soup." Esme washes her hands and motions for me sit in the semi-formal room.

Clank, drag, wipe, swallow. I keep repeating this, eating my soup, making certain I'm not dribbling or dripping anywhere on Esme's embroidered silk shantung table runner.

"How do you like the soup?"

"It's," grainy, "good, thank you."

Clank, drag, wipe, swallow.

"Are you enjoying Forks?" I venture. The stilted conversation is palpable to us both.

"It's very nice, lush. Different from our last home."

"Oh, where was that?"

"Chicago."

"Ah, the Windy City," I refrain from asking her about gangsters.

"It's not really windy," patronizing smile added for my sole benefit.

Death by a thousand paper cuts would be a vast improvement.

Esme sighs and rises from her seat.

"Let's move on to our entrees, shall we?" She holds out her hand for my soup bowl.

"I have it, I'll help you." I get up and follow her back to the kitchen.

I look at Esme as she prepares out plates. She's what my grandmother would have classified as a handsome woman. Her cheekbones are high and pronounced, her hair and eyebrows are a dark red that doesn't seem to come from a bottle, and she has little freckles along her thin arms with small wrists. She looks like she comes to her slight athletic build naturally.

Giving me a forced smile, I trail after her back into the dining room.

"So, have you started to apply to colleges?" Esme asks me while cutting herself a small piece of her meat.

"Yes, sending them out this week, actually." I don't offer any additional information. I don't want to be Esme's friend, that would be gauche, you know, mostly because I've had her husband's penis in me and all.

"How's the meat?"

We're doing this again?

""It's," bitter, "lovely, thank you."

We remain quiet for another moment and I go back to food.

She lets out a long exhale and I surreptitiously look to see her setting her knife and fork down. I look up at her.

"I thought I'd wait until coffee to have this chat, but this meal is painfully boring," she says as she moves her hand to brush away some air dismissively.

I set my flatware down and put my hands in my lap.

"I know you and Carlisle have been having sex together." It's a simple statement, no anguish or heartache involved.

I guess she isn't operating under any false pretenses.

"Yes," I answer and quickly meet her gaze before focusing my eyes on nothing behind her.

"Have you wondered why it is I know?"

I think about her question, it's a good question.

"Maybe, in a roundabout way, I suppose."

For the first time Esme doesn't look impeccably put together or with an air of amused boredom.

"Bella, I have certain," she pauses to look up at the coved plaster ceiling for a brief moment, "proclivities. And these inclinations, well, Carlisle can't exactly fulfill them for me." She looks at me her chin down, her eyes boring into mine, and waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

I slowly mimic her stare and angle of her head and lean forward trying to pick up what she was conveying. After several long moments, impossibly long moments, the light bulb pops on, and I think I understand.

Leaning forward further, with my voice to an incredulous whisper, I say, "You like girls?"

Esme leans back with her composure firmly back in place, her mouth fighting a smile, and her lips twisted up into a little bow. Her hands and arms resting comfortably on her chair, she looks like she just enjoyed the canary she consumed.

"Not girls, women," eyebrows rise slightly. I don't know if she's pleased with herself or what.

"Ohh," I lean back indelicately and grab my water to swill it down. I might have wiped by brow too.

"Wow," I continue on with my surprise.

Esme's had enough of my reactions and proceeds. "Bella, when women reach a certain age, in my case, and seemingly with most, our thirties, we begin to accept ourselves fully. Now men, well, men are totally different. When they reach 35, they wake up one morning and instead of checking the box scores, they check the NASDAQ to see how many shares had been traded."

I nod my head and I could feel my mouth hanging open.

"Suddenly, to them, 401k's are no longer an abstract concept, and it becomes something for them to worry about. They are faced with their futures and come to realize that they will not go back to live in the fraternity or lead their team to a national championship, or take two months with their best buddy to road trip their way across the country. They learn that there is a timeframe to their mortality."

"Uh-huh," I nod my head some more, mouth still hanging open, I am certain.

"But back to women," she gives another amused little closed mouth smile. "Women," she muses, "are always aware of timeframes and mortalities and futures. We spend the early part of out adulthood learning about ourselves, but being too afraid to declare what we want. Then, when we hit our 20's, we become full of our freedom and flit from one activity to the next, like a hummingbird to sugar water," she gives me a devilish smirk.

"And when out 30's come, we know what we want and how we want to live. We're no longer uncertain of our hair and bodies and clothes." I don't think she's talking about my mother, Renee is concerned about all of those things. "We hit our sexual stride and the irony of it all, a man's peak has almost already faded. Like a hitchhiker on the side of a road that you watch get smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror."

Her expression goes darker before she talks again.

"I'm not greedy. I love Carlisle, and I want nothing more than for him to be happy," she looks at me fiercely. "But, as I've said, I have needs that Carlisle's unable to fulfill, just like I can't be a beautiful and naïve 18 year old girl."

Pointed look noted, Esme.

"I'll always be with him, it's just that now," she turns her head and absently fingers her hair, it looks soft. "We have to expand our purview and accommodate one another's needs, together and separately," she adds.

"And Doctor Cullen knows about your, choices?" I realize the moment that question is out of my mouth that it's inappropriate. "I'm sorry, that's terribly impolite of me to ask," I summon up the best of my manners and poise.

She gives me a near condescending laugh before she looks at me. She looks at me like she can see which side of my brain is working the hardest.

"That's what I meant when I said, naïve."

I'm about to say something less than polite, but she starts speaking again. She's set her dinner plate to the space next to her. That baby cow died mostly in vain.

"I planted the seed to Carlisle." She looks at me like I'm a sad little pet project.

I can feel my breathing becoming louder, my nostrils might be flaring, or not, I'm not really certain. I don't think Esme has noticed, though.

"Oh." It's all I can say.

I'm a pet project and some sort of pity fuck.

"I don't want him to be lonely while I pursue my interests. And I think you're a lovely young woman."

I don't know if I thank her for dinner or not, it's all kind of a blur. I know I offer to help clean the dishes, I think she tells me no. I make excuses about homework and Charlie and helping the sick and needy, possibly, I can't be certain.

She might have said she hopes to get together again sometime, that she really enjoyed my company, but I think we both know that's not the case.

It takes three tries to get my truck to start. I want to kick the thing into fucking compliance because Charlie got me this fucking truck because Jake promised him he could keep it safe and running, and there's just no one you can trust, especially good looking doctors who are supposed to just simply be living out a middle age fantasy.

I know where I'm driving, and it's the last place I should be, but, you know, I don't make good decisions anymore. I pull into the parking lot and see his fucking black fucking perfect Mercedes.

I pull out the key card and enter my code to get into the building and the office. It took six months of being "on probation" to earn this key card and code.

It's dim, I go to his office and walk in. He looks up at me, holding his Montblanc, I know that's what it is because I have to order ink refills for it. He looks at me, like, _what the fuck_. No question mark.

"I had dinner with your wife." I may have said that list word with a bite.

Carlisle leans back in his well-appointed leather chair and tents his index fingers. "Is that so?"

Cool as a mountain breeze.

"You're just fucking me because your wife told you too?"

The only expression I get is a calm exterior coupled with an appraising look.

* * *

**a/n** Oh, the drama.

Is that what everyone was expecting of Esme? I know many of you had inklings, but let me know what you think, your reviews have so kicked my ass in the best of ways, I'm grateful for each and every one of you awesome readers.


	10. Chapter 10

I think it's obvious I'm hopeless at updating with any type of regularity. So with that being said, if you're still reading this, thank you, it makes living in what feels like a molten of lava house, all the worthwhile. Hopefully this chap will work some stuff out between this triangle. It might be a little bit angst-filled, maybe not, I don't know, I've lost all objectivity. My neediness makes me want to retch.

Stephenie Meyer's Twilight – Is it true she wanted to be present when the Edward / Bella honeymoon scene was filmed?

Kind of a weird time to post a chap, but I promised myself I would finish this and post today. As always, errors and inconsistencies are all me.

* * *

Chapter Ten

Carlisle continues to sit and look at me at me; the only addition to his expression is slight amusement. I decide I can't wait for him to choose his words so I bull ahead and keep speaking.

"Your wife doesn't want to share."

"Is that so?" Could he care less? He tips his head to the side and rests his head on his outstretched index and middle fingers. Despite the fact he's acting like a total dick at the moment, I want to lick him like honey dripping off a spoon.

"I suppose it's never been a strong suit for her," he remarks contemplatively. "You're asking this question, why?"

It would be a lie to say I'm surprised by his bored indifference, regardless; I narrow my eyes, trying to ignore his open collar and understated silver and onyx cufflinks. Or the dangerous hills and valleys of his dark red lips. This does not go unnoticed by Carlisle and I watch as the corners of his mouth curve up like an amusement of having just won a cheap prize at a carnival.

"I asked you, Carlisle, I asked you about your wife," I practically accuse, repeating myself for emphasis and thinking back to the afternoon of the Apple Fest. "You told me it wasn't an issue."

I wait for him to argue.

"It wasn't an issue. If something's changed, I'm unaware of it." He's looking at me; his tone and face remain even and composed.

For several moments I let my eyes travel around the back wall, window and bookcases of his office, uncertain how to proceed.

"She told me I was naïve," I tell him, feeling, ironically, young and doubtful.

His mouth sets in a vague line. "You are naïve."

I'm a deflated balloon, his statement squashing what little I have left of my spirit, of my joie de vivre.

"Jaded and cynical is never worn well. Especially by the young," he adds. He does not say this unkindly and I try to consider his words without becoming offended or embarrassed.

We remain in silence. I shift and fidget, my nail scraping away the skin on the side of my thumb, my bottom lip being chewed on by an incisor.

Carlisle sighs. "What do you want from this conversation, Isabella?"

I still myself and repeat the question in my mind. Then I repeat it again.

What I really want to do, despite it being all wrong, is have him reassure me in every physical way we can come up with. I want his head between my legs, I want my fingers spread wide through his hair and I want him to be breathing out my name like I am a deity.

But that's not what needs to happen.

My shoulders release their tension, sloping down, weighted by my arms. I've dug the skin of my thumb too hard and now it's stinging. I clench my toes; they feel crowded in my stiff, scuffed leather flats.

"I want to know I'm not a joke." I feel so weak admitting this. It's the best answer I can give him. It says everything. I don't want to be some silly little nothing he and Esme laugh about when they are together.

Carlisle gets up from his chair and walks over to stand in front of me, placing his hands on my hips and pulling me with him as he leans along the edge of his desk.

His fingers hurt in the most delicious of ways as they press through the thin of my skirt as he steadies my twitching and uncertainty. My hands grip the tops of his thighs, my fingers spreading out and digging in. If I'm hurting him, he makes no indication of it.

"I'm not going to sit here and reassure your insecurities," he says to me, his chest rising and falling with his breathing, his Adam's apple visible with his swallow.

The air is charged. I want to travel my tongue up his neck and suck on the lobe of his ear. Maybe bite it a little.

"Why?" I ask, wondering if he realizes how much I need that reassurance. I'm staring at his lips.

"You don't need my words to validate you."

And that's all he says on the matter, my eyes draw up to meet his gaze.

I want to believe him.

I wonder when I lost my swagger and my desire to be in control.

I feel Carlisle's hands move up, just underneath my too small grey sweater and his grip briefly tightens before dropping them back to the desk.

"Here," he says as he abruptly stands up and hands me a notebook from his bookshelf. "In case any one sees you walking out of here."

Not only am I being dismissed, but his forethought and cold pragmatism in handing me a "cover," makes it the second time tonight a Cullen has made me feel like nothing more than a whore.

Distracted, I take the notebook in hand. I'm wondering if my confidence is stuffed in the back of the junk drawer at home. It would be just like me to have crammed it away thinking it wasn't necessary.

"Bella, do you think I'm the type of man that would do something because someone told him to?"

I'm amused for the first time today. He's wearing a self-satisfied smile and his eyes are my favorite mischievous entanglement. For the moment, I forget that I'm a perceived slut. I don't have a clever response to his question and truth be told, all I really want to do is climb on top of him and do things to him that are entirely inappropriate for any office setting.

And I know he's making light of my insecurities, but I think he's doing it for my benefit. It's a little reassurance without changing our dynamic any more than I already have tonight.

I want Carlisle to continue to make little jokes and look utterly luscious doing so. I would like to turn to leave but have Carlisle say he's all wrong, that he wants to worship my body, throwing the notebook against the wall, dropping to his knees and begging me to satisfy him because his lesbian shrew of a wife hasn't done so in years. That's what I want, but again, I know my wants are getting carried away.

"Carlisle, may I ask you something?" I step back and take a seat in his low-slung Eames chair. I kind of hate Esme's tastes in office décor; this chair makes me look like I'm gawky and uncertain. I don't need a chair to reinforce that specific element of my being.

Carlisle looks at me with a slightly guarded expression. "If you'd like," he gestures his hands out like he's allowing me to pass through some imaginary gates of an exclusive club.

"Why did you marry your wife if she's a lesbian?"

I see the quick set of his jaw and can almost hear his teeth grind.

"She's bisexual," is his somewhat clipped answer.

"Has she always been?" Why can't I stop asking these questions?

He seems to think this question over but makes no move to respond.

I counter.

"I'm not asking to be your girlfriend. Belonging to someone else is out of my interest in the foreseeable future. It's all kind of a hassle, really."

I watch as he gives a confident and devilish smile. He cocks his head to the side and probably thinks I'm leaving him off the hook for an answer. But I'm not, I'm changing my tack and I want an answer to my question.

"But I think it's only fair, given the fact that I've had your cock in my mouth and you've licked my clit to more than one or two orgasms, that you fill me in to what led you to me."

His eyebrows rise only slightly, but I know I've caught him off guard.

"What makes you think I'm not living out more than just a middle aged man's fantasy?" He asks, being obstinate in his avoidance.

"Are you?" I challenge.

He's silent as his eyes search my face for an ulterior motive.

"Possibly, I don't know," he answers vaguely, his disinterest returning.

"I don't understand why you married Esme. I mean, if she likes women like she likes you, didn't marriage unnecessarily complicate things?"

"Why does anyone get married?" He asks me like it's the most obvious question in the world.

"Well, around here, it's usually a pretty good chance that the girl's knocked up." I chide myself for using the term, _knocked up_, I mean, it's not like I need to highlight how backwoods this town is more than is already obvious.

"I married her because I love her," he answers, ignoring my crass response.

It's as if all the air in the room stills.

I'm the biggest halfwit alive. I've just ruined everything that we didn't have. We didn't have commitments between us. We didn't have expectations. We didn't have dreams entwined with one another. But most importantly, we didn't have the burden of sharing our personal lives. We only dealt on the thinnest of surfaces.

Now I've gone and ruined this perfect arrangement. I'm not forgetting that month where he ignored me, or the sexual act I performed on him in anger, but that's all in the past. We had the perfect arrangement to be nothing more than a means to an end. Pleasure to orgasm, get dressed and go home. Nothing could have been simpler.

I've probably fucked this up. And I'm most likely naïve and immature. I hope that I'm not, though.

"Why don't you think about what you want to do?" He pauses, maybe waiting for this to sink in. "We don't owe each other anything other than our discretion." He's speaking to me in a clearly practiced, impersonal manner; it's his doctor manner. "If you believe this is something you want to continue, you let me know."

I realize he's not mean in saying what he just said, but what Carlisle's just said doesn't change anything with Esme.

"Carlisle," I say, "this won't work if Esme doesn't want you to do this. Other than tonight's dinner, she's been nice to me, helping me with reasearch school loans and stuff, and despite the huge desire that I want to continue having sex with you, I can't do that to someone else. If Esme isn't interested in sharing or loaning you out or however you two have arranged it, then this probably isn't going to work. If we keep going and Esme is resentful and angry about it, then obviously, it's not worth it. And I guess, based purely on self-preservation, I don't want to deal with the guilt of it all."

Carlisle surveys me and I'm afraid he'll tell me to leave – for good.

"Isabella, don't you know guilt is a useless emotion?"

I hear his words, but I can't quite comprehend the meaning of them. I can feel my ears move as my face tenses and releases. I am unable to come up with any response.

"I don't know what to do with a statement like that." I shrug a shoulder.

It's all I can say. I take the notebook and turn towards the door.

"Bella," Carlisle says, catching my elbow. I wish he would take his fingertips and trace them up my arm and bury them in my hair bringing his mouth to mine. "I'll tell you one thing about Esme."

"What's that?" I ask with trepidation. I'm wary of the answer.

"She likes to get as good as she gives."

He looks at me like he's telling me a secret, thinking the answer is obvious. It's not.

"Thanks." Then I add, "I'll keep that in mind."

What kind of Google search does one do when one's wife is bisexual and the husband is sleeping with the 18-year-old daughter of the town's police chief?

x

Carlisle's suggestion to think about what I wanted to do situated itself in that part of my bran that allows thought for little else. I had no answer on where things stood with Esme and the sharing of Carlisle. I mean, if I continue to steal away with Carlisle to his stone cottage in the woods, what would that do to their marriage? My time in Forks has an expiration date, their marriage does not.

I left Carlisle's office and went home and sat in front of my computer and tried to figure out a way to begin. Trying to _give as good as Esme gave_. In no particular order, I make a list of known Esme interests.

-Gardening

-Women

-Carlisle

-Learning to cook

I wasn't certain about that cooking one, she didn't so much seem to like to cook. It was more out of necessity than out of desire. I'm certain if there were any three star Michelin restaurants within the surrounding communities, she would put away her spatula and take permanent dining residence at the very best table.

So I focused my search on Gardening. Entering "open marriage gardeners," surprisingly gave me a match, Vita Sackville-West. She was a novelist, had many women lovers, including Virginia Woolf who based _Orlando_ on her, and she was a gardener staying married to her husband where they had, _enduring love for one another_.

Okay, that was a good find. I wrote her name down and continued on.

I made it easy on myself and just entered "open marriages," in the search of Wikipedia and went to the page. Towards the bottom there was a list of known couples with open marriages, the first one listed was, Edna St. Vincent Millay.

I knew that name. She was a poet. We had briefly studied her last year in English when we were learning about American poets. I recalled folding down the page in my textbook thinking how much I wished I could live my life in the flurry of weightless regret. In a place where time was nothing more than the now and focused on little but hedonistic pleasure.

_My Candle burns at both ends;_

_It will not last the night;_

_But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends –_

_It gives a lovely light!_

I exhale a deep breath and wonder if pleasure is truly ever without consequences.

As much as I hated to spend the money, I purchased a biography on each woman. The money spent was for a purpose. While Carlisle had said Esme likes to get as good as she gave, I wasn't going to twist that into some sort of sordid battle of wills between the two of us women.

I had some questions to ask Esme directly and she needed to provide the answers. I couldn't hope Carlisle would clear up any uncertainty, it had to come from her. After all, _she planted the seed_.

I ponied the extra money for two day delivery wanting to face Esme, sooner rather than later. I needed to clear the air and not wait for Carlisle.

x

The books were delivered on Friday; propped between the storm door and the front door when I got home from Carlisle's office.

It was good I didn't see Carlisle for my two days of work, any person with half an eye and an inkling of the drama of teenage doubt and insecurity, would have picked up the stench of it hanging off of me like I was wearing a necklace of festering garlic.

Taking the package, I go inside the house and call Mike and arrange for him to cover two hours of my shift tomorrow. And I swear, had I known Mike would have become so agreeable, I would have found someone to get him laid a long time ago. Frequently copulating Mike is kind of awesome. I decline going to the movies with he and Jess because last time Jess and I went to the movies she spent 20 minutes telling me about her uncle who recently had leprosy. I'm not gonna lie, it freaked me the fuck out because we shared a bag of popcorn and I wondered when the last time was that she saw her uncle. When I told Mike the story, he laughed, like really laughed and told me the guy actually has really bad psoriasis. HI-larious. I liked this Mike. He made me want to hang out with him on a sunny Saturday afternoon watching a baseball game eating hotdogs and drinking lemonade. He's kind of easy like that.

After hanging up with him, I close my eyes, focus on nothing but the blackness and take a deep cleansing breath. I think that's what it would be called, I don't know, calming breaths and batik sarongs are kind of Rosalie's thing. Okay, I can make my second phone call.

Reopening my eyes, I enter the number and wait.

"Hello, this is Esme Cullen."

"Um," get your shit together, Bella, "hi, Esme, it's Bella."

"Bella," slight surprise and indifference is her tone; must be something with their household. "This is unexpected."

I wait several moments thinking she's going to continue talking. She does not and my mouth starts dripping words like a leaky faucet.

"I wonder if I could drop by tomorrow morning. I have something I want to give you," she doesn't make a sound and I keep going. "To, uh, thank you for dinner the other night, on Tuesday," twitchy pause, "when I went over to your house," stammering pause, "and we ate together," halting pause, "on Tuesday." I should tie myself to some train tracks.

"What time were you thinking?" She asks in a thinly veiled dismissive tone.

Even by the boondocks standards of Forks, her rudeness is ugly.

"I was hoping to drop it off on my way to work," I'm trying hard to keep the sneer out of my voice. "I'll only be a minute."

Seemingly to have recovered her pleasant veneer, she responds with a slightly less than forced politeness. "Of course, what time were you thinking?"

"Is 10:30 too early, I have to work at Newton's tomorrow."

"That'll work out perfectly, I look forward to seeing you again."

"Great, I'll see you tomorrow."

It wasn't great, and I didn't want to see her tomorrow, but I owed her a _give_ to her _get_.

After the phone calls, I went to the grocery store to get a gift bag or something for my books for Esme. I had no doubt that presentation is paramount to her.

Standing in the greeting card aisle, I'm having a silent little meltdown over what color gift bag to get. A fucking gift bag. Fifteen sweaty, hyperventilating minutes to choose a color bag. If I get red, that'll seem angry. The blue bag looks like the color of Carlisle's eyes, so, no. Pink? Not a chance. Green symbolizes jealousy, it's not a sentiment I want to promote. White is for surrender, if I was surrendering I wouldn't be standing in the card aisle flipping the fuck out over what color bag to get. Lavender? I think lavender is the color for lesbians, which might be interpreted as mocking. So yellow it is. I'm hoping she doesn't see it as a color of cowardice.

x

I wonder if there's a stronger word for _awkward_. Esme's breakfast room, which was meant to be sunny and bright, is grey and dim because this is Forks. It's perfect since the tension stifling us both.

It's obvious to us that our questions and answers are nothing more than perfunctory exercises.

The pink floral design on her bone china looks out of place on this dreary day. The rain is slowly gliding down the windows covering them like ooze. Esme takes a sip of her milky coffee from the delicate cup and I think about how I drank my morning orange juice out of a mug that said, _Fisherman are a good catch_! All the cheese pimento spread juice glasses were in the dishwasher.

Esme and I are worlds apart.

"Um, thank you for letting me drop over this morning, I, um, I got you this," I lift the bag, handing it to her, she takes it and looks at me, maybe surprised by the weight or my lack of flourish in the presentation.

She doesn't look at me as she takes out the card I wrote on my one set of stationery. I spent 73 minutes last night trying to compose the sentiment I wanted to give. I watch as her eyes move down the words I wrote.

_Dear Esme,_

_I expect our dinner did not go the way either of us had planned. It's not my intention to hurt you or Carlisle. I hope you believe that. You've been quietly supportive of my efforts to leave Forks in pursuit of a more educated life, and for that I am and will be forever grateful. _

_I chose these books based on the part of your life you shared with me this past week, I hope you find them of interest._

_With very kind regards,_

_-Isabella_

Her hand came up and she absently fingered her way through her hair before turning to me and giving an offhanded smile.

She took out the first book, unwrapped the tissue paper and looked at the front cover.

It was the biography of Edna St. Vincent Millay.

"Um, I've read a little of her poetry. I think she led an interesting life, between the World Wars," I staggered. I didn't want to give her a book report or sound like I was justifying my gift.

She didn't say anything, really, kind of just murmured a, _mmm hmm_, and reached to unwrap the second book.

"I don't really know very much about this second woman, but she seems really interesting. She's all about literature actually, with Virginia Woolf and stuff." _And stuff_, hard to believe at one of the tops in my class "I'm kind of curious to know what you think about her," I ramble on.

She set the books down to look at me. Like one of those looks where you feel like you're being examined and decided upon.

"Well, this is a surprise," Esme said to the air around us.

Her eyes continue to scrutinize me. Maybe sizing me up. I'm squirming under her assessment.

"I do love Carlisle," she plainly said. "I'm disappointed I'm not the woman I should be for him."

She clearly was talking more contemplatively to herself, despite the fact that I was sitting next to her.

Now it was silent and I started to rub the side of my thumb with my nail, reopening the tender skin that had formed since Tuesday night.

"Carlisle said you like to get as good as you got," I said without thinking of what coming out of my mouth first. Good fuck, I need to learn how to conduct myself.

I'm surprised to hear a chuckle from Esme.

"And this is what you came up with? I would have expected some naughty photos of you in unspeakable little black mesh nothings, or late night calls beckoning Carlisle from his bed, but this? A very interesting path you've chosen here." I think she's a little impressed.

I choke out a small laugh, or whimper and shrug my shoulder.

"You know, Carlisle really thinks I act like a spoiled child," Esme shares with me.

I don't say anything in response. I don't really want to compare Carlisle notes with her. I give, what I hope isn't a tight smile, and keep my mouth quiet.

"I might be opinionated," she continues, "but I really want the best for those I care about." Pointed and meaningful look thrown my way.

I start speaking before she can continue on. If we're going to have it out on these friendlier terms, then I'm just gonna lay it all out there.

"Esme, I don't know what kind of arrangement you and Carlisle have, if you picked me out for him, if he picked me out for him, if there's always been others—"

"There hasn't been others," she interjects.

Interesting, will think about that later.

"Regardless, I never looked for this. I'll admit I was attracted that first time I was around Carlisle, but that was it. I made no," I gently shake my head, "efforts or, I don't know, overtures, I guess, to try and hook up with your husband, it wasn't like that."

Esme's expression is unreadable, blank almost, but I know she's listening to what I'm saying by the set of her gaze.

"I don't want to come between the two of you. I'd rather not have to, but I can quit my job at your husband's office if you want me to. I know I'm not a big part of your lives, but if I'm a cause of," I shrug my shoulder, "contentious," I'm pulling out my SAT words, "arguments, then I can easily step aside." I don't want to do any of these things, but me having satisfying sex pales in comparison to things like marriage vows.

Esme's poised demeanor has returned, and, fortunately for me, not the subtle, biting annoyance from our dinner.

"I don't expect you to quit your job at Carlisle's office." She turns to look at me, "It serves no purpose," finality marks her words.

I wait for her to continue.

"Bella," she says coolly, "I'm not one to apologize, often," cue my ironic surprise. "But I appreciate the effort you made today coming here. I imagine it wasn't an easy thing to do."

True to form, Esme remains ever sardonic. I wonder if she realizes it's difficult to know whether she's being sincere or not.

"Quite frankly, I think I've underestimated you," she remarks, looking out the window before turning to me and giving me an amused, cat-like smile.

Ahh, the insulting compliment to make the treacherous journey along the High Road that much more precarious. Thank you, Esme, for your constant vigilance to the consistency of your words and actions.

"I am being honest, though. I'll go back to how things were before any of this," I cloddishly gesture my hand to the area in front of me, "before any of this changed."

Esme's expression is bright and smooth, her eyes light and easy, almost like the clouds outside had broken and the sun was shining.

"You should get going to work, I wouldn't want you to be late."

"Um, yeah, okay, thanks," I splutter out at the abrupt change. Taking my keys from the table, I scrape my chair back and with the uncoordinated gracelessness that I posses so well, I stand, smoothing out my nylon ripstop skort in an attempt to not look so sporting good frumpy and am guided to the door by the seemingly always elegant and polished Esme.

Esme pauses before opening the door, looking me up and down one more time before deciding on a smile.

"Bella," she says, taking my clammy palm into hers, resting her other hand on my forearm like she had done, what seemed ages ago. "I'm glad we had this little time together. And thank you for my books, I look forward to discussing them with you."

Ushering me out the door, I noticed the dried blood colored mum plant I'd brought over on Tuesday. It had been planted near the front steps, and looked almost like it belonged among the other flowers and plants.

xx

"Rose, every wrestler wears a singlet."

"I know, but, ugh, my mom goes to his matches with me. I mean," Rose pauses, "she stares," Rose hisses into the phone.

If I knew that Rose wasn't on the edge of the earth at the moment, my ass would have been laughed off. But even with my best efforts, I can't help a giggle escape.

"It's not funny, like, so, not, funny. Like disturbing, actually. Your own fucking mom isn't supposed to be a Cougar. Haven't we moved on to another trend yet? Why aren't dads included in this? Why don't they have a clever, stupid little name?"

I just choke on my spit a little bit and thank any divinity that'll listen that Carlisle isn't a dad.

"I don't know, I think I'm gonna take Emmett's schedule off the fridge, maybe she'll stop asking to come with me."

"Trophy wives," I blurt, having found some sort of an answer to the male version of Cougars.

"What?"

"Uh, trophy wives, it's kind of like the guy's version of the trend. It's been around for ages." Oh my God, my brain is damaged.

Rose laughs. "You're bordering on verbally intruding on my personal space."

"And really, would you stop asking to go if you could stare at Emmett rolling around on the floor sweating and flexing in a tight little one piece outfit that showed off his chest? Your mom works super hard, let her have some fun."

"You suck and are a total bitch and I don't know why we're still friends. I'll meet you in the parking lot before school tomorrow."

"I feeling x's and o's for you right now, beautiful Rosalie," I said sounding all moony and love struck.

"Seriously, next weekend we're trolling for a new man for you. Your lack of penis is making me look too good for you, I don't know if I'll be able to fight you off when you decide you want to taste my flower."

"Oh, no, Rose, if I were to taste anyone's flower, it'd be Jessica, just for the chance to see her tits alone."

"Traitor!"

"'Bye, Rose."

"Yes, and enjoy your sticky and sweet dream of Jess's bountiful rack."

We hang up, because really, it was a conversation that needed to end.

"Bells, you still on the phone?" Charlie yelled from the foot of the stairs.

"No," I went downstairs to meet him.

"I'm off."

"Okay, be careful."

"Always am."

Charlie had switched to work the third shift this week so he could spend the daytime hours to fish the last days of the salmon season. Like the eight salmons we already had in the freezer wouldn't last us through the winter.

I go upstairs and finish an outline for an English paper that's due on Friday.

Thinking about last year at this time, when Charlie had switched to the third shift, Jake would climb up the trellis and spend the nights with me as we groped and touched and panted and explored each other's bodies. It was still new and exciting then before it got all mangled and twisted. I would get to school the next day and Rose would see my grin I couldn't hide and tease me, then ask for details.

I get ready for bed, washing my face, brushing my teeth, then walked naked back into the bedroom. I like having the house to myself. I take out a nightshirt and tuck it under my pillow and get into bed. Lying in the darkness, I hear the rain start to lazily beat atop the roof.

Closing my eyes, I forget everything about the past week. No uncomfortable dinners, or face-offs, or peace offerings to Esme.

I run my hands back and forth lightly over both breasts and feel my nipples become swollen. The rain picks up, gaining momentum.

I'm imagining Carlisle pulling me closer to him, leaning against his office desk and traveling his hands up my slightly too small grey sweater and unhooking my black mesh bra.

I travel one hand lower, over my abdomen and inch it down further. I'm just about to travel my index finger along my slit when my phone vibrates on the nightstand next to me.

Seriously?

I try to make my voice sound normal. "Hello?"

"It's raining on a Sunday night."

My nipples swell more without any tactile stimulation. He remembers my little stripping narrative. He was thinking about me. About me touching myself.

"Yes, it is," I reply only above a whisper and measured, wanting to pace out what I'm hoping lie ahead.

"Are you in bed?"

Even with his slightly formal and clipped East coast accent, he still sounds dangerous in all the best of ways.

"Yes," my sibilant _S_, making its appearance.

"What are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking about you," I tell him, while holding the phone with one hand and slowly moving my other down to my slit. The rain is coming down heavily now.

"What about me?"

"I'm imaging a different scenario in your office than what was last Tuesday."

Carlisle gives a short, quiet, throaty laugh. "Is that so?"

"Yeah," I drawl out having just taken some of my wetness to circle my clit.

"I don't want to interrupt you, then," the teasing and lust of his voice brings my finger to my mouth to taste what he does to me.

"Talk to me." I'm nearly breathless even thought we've only been on the phone a short time.

"Mmm, no, I want to hear you. Words or sounds, it's you I want to hear," he tells me.

I close my eyes and imagine it's him touching me. My hand moves slowly and with purpose from nipples, then to grip each breast then down my abdomen again.

"You make me so very wet." I'm not eloquent and my words are woefully inadequate to the affect this is having on me, but I don't care.

"I like doing that to you," he says.

As I'm moving my finger from in and out of me back to my clit in smooth motions a thought enters my mind. "Are you touching yourself?" I ask, hopeful I'm doing the same to him.

"Listening to you is satisfying enough. The way your body shifts and writhes when you're building up to an orgasm. The way your rich, red lips separate and sound comes from the back of your throat. How your hair looks spread across my bed, and how your eyes close long before you come, like you want to shut out all around you and only feel the sensations and hear our breathing."

"Oh Carlisle," slips from my mouth and across the line separating us. My eyes are closed, my chest is close to heaving, and I wish I had both my hands to use, but the sound of his voice telling me what I do and how I look doing it is nearly the most erotic thing to listen to right now.

"I'm so close," I tell him after a few more minutes. Dropping the phone, I continue circling my clit and bring my other hand to slip two fingers into me. It's building, strong and powerful, my breathing picking up, my mind replaying the vapory images of Carlisle and I behind my closed eyes. I come, long and deliciously drawn out. My hips bucking slightly, my finger moving from my sensitive clit so my hand can grab at my breast. My mouth unable to form any words, only giving breathy soprano pitches of satisfaction.

Recovering myself, I find the phone and pick it up.

"That was stunning," Carlisle tells me, it puts a satisfied smile on my face. "Good night, Isabella."

I ended our call, and still myself to regulate my breathing.

I would be seeing Carlisle again, I was sure of it.

* * *

**a/n** Poem is Edna St. Vincent Millay's, _First Fig_.

Since I'm so miserable about regular updates, I wasn't going to leave you with any dangling cliffhanger. I expect the next chap to bring back some humor.

I'm reading Twinned right now, it's so good. So far, ambiguous slash and the most wonderful Jasper I've ever read. It's by Conversed, it's well worth the search for it on ffn.

I'm going out to order a big glass of a vodka something cocktail, to celebrate the posting of this chap, leaving me a note so I can read it tomorrow through my bleary eyes will quell my need for a juicy cheeseburger.


	11. Chapter 11

Stephanie Meyer's Twilight; I lost track at the number of times Jake ran away.

An unexpected chapter and a Carlisle point of view to boot since so many asked for another one (okay, maybe three people did.)

As always, there will be errors, and they will be all mine.

* * *

_Darling Carlisle,_

_Went to Sappho for a ride, will be back by dinner, if not, there are apples and brie in the refrigerator and the liquor cabinet has been restocked. _

_xo_

_-Esme_

I often wonder at the complete satire of moving next to a place called, Sappho. A town named after the ancient Greek poetess, a woman who wrote of the love of both genders, and now a place nestled between Lake Pleasant and Beaver Lake.

x

"How was your ride?"

"I had to take a different mare than I normally do, I'm thinking about getting one of my own and stable her there," Esme says, conversationally. "Other than that, it was good," she sees that I'm not fully paying attention. "Lana came along."

She pauses to look at me, to see if I'll bite to her bait. I briefly look at my nails instead.

"Did you eat?"

"I had some of that brie, it was good. Finished off the vichyssoise, little grainy," I tell her.

Esme tightens her mouth. "Bella said it was good," she looks at me, still waiting for me to bite.

"Is that so? This was on Tuesday?" I had been wondering if Esme would bring up her dinner, I was curious to her motivation in inviting Bella over for a meal.

"Yes. Bella was quite complimentary to my cooking." It's almost entertaining to watch my wife act both indignant and smug.

"Really? It wouldn't have had anything to do with her feeling intimidated?" A definite amount of wryness held in my question.

"You think so little of me." Her words are harsh but her tone is mock innocence.

"Playing the victim doesn't suit you, Esme, you're far too cunning for that." My wife still has the surprising ability to blush. A blush is always enticing, always an invitation for more.

"I know," she gives me cheeky wink and a puckery kiss while her hand grips my face. "It seems Bella told you about our dinner, yes?"

Esme follows me as I take the mail off the counter. This conversation has now turned in the hunt for information, a, who knows what about whom. I'm trying not to engage.

"She went straight to your office?" Esme isn't letting this drop.

Setting down a catalog of horse tack, I reply. "Yes, I imagine she came by after she left from here."

Esme, trying to play it close to the vest and failing rather spectacularly, is twisting to find out the details of my conversation with Bella.

"I'm going to make you ask," I taunt, acting like I'm terribly involved in studying a bank statement.

"I don't know what you're talking about." The muscles around her mouth twitch trying not to smirk.

"Fine, then, have it your way." My face remains relaxed while I pick up the equine catalog again and resume my perusal. I sit down on the couch in the living room.

Several foot-jiggling minutes later, Esme, sitting in the chair next to me, cannot help herself.

"What did she say? She said I was mean, didn't she? Did she say anything about my cooking? I thought she was going to scamper away when I pounded out the veal. And she was mortified by her drink, utterly baffled by it."

Esme laughs lightly, although having the decency to cover her mouth like she was trying to stop herself.

"Are you through?"

Tipping her head to the side, Esme lets her laughing turn into a slow creeping smile of contentment across her face.

"Yes, I'm through. To be truthful, I didn't expect the dinner to go the way it did at all."

"What did you plan on happening?" I ask, again wondering what possibly went through my wife's head in extending an invitation to Bella.

"I don't know, really," Esme quietly answers. "She got here, and was trying so hard, giving me this hideously colored mum plant. Working her manners as best she knew, I just became so irritated with her. By her mere presence. I thought I wanted to be her friend. Talk to her about you, remember what it was like to be 18 years old, get excited when her life begins when she leaves Forks behind and starts fresh and gains new experiences."

Esme is earnest and serious in her recounting.

"But, what happened?" I ask, softly.

"I," pause, sigh, "honestly," nonchalant shrug and eyes close and reopen slowly, "I was threatened and maybe jealous." Esme gets up from her chair and sits next to me putting her legs across my lap and I rest my hand on the tops her calves.

"She's such a bright, young, insecure, smart, uncertain creature. I can imagine crawling into that brain of hers and laughing at the ridiculousness she probably comes up with. It would be like falling down a rabbit hole. Speaking of which, we have Alice's birthday coming up in a couple of weeks, I was thinking about getting her a plane ticket so she can spend time with us over Christmas. I thought we could take a weekend in Seattle, show her the Space Needle and the fish market, watching the mongers throw those fish around, she'd have so much fun."

"You changed the subject on me." I tell Esme.

"Yes, I didn't want to talk about Bella anymore."

"She offered to stop everything. She doesn't want to be something that puts strain on our marriage. She's finding it difficult to understand our relationship," I tell her.

"I think she's quite clever, but I'm torn between wanting to enjoy her company and wanting to protect you so you don't get mired in anything that would sully you and your good standing in the community."

"That's rich, coming from the woman who practically flung me in Isabella's direction."

"I didn't really think you'd go for it. I mean, it's so," she smiles again, "obvious," she slightly exaggerates the word. "I though you'd go to Seattle and find someone more worldly, or charm one of your pretty, little, blue pill drug reps. Or maybe one of the female nurses from Chicago, no longer having to worry about shitting where you eat, plus, giving you an excuse to venture away from gossipy Forks and back to the anonymity of a large, urban environment. But the 18 year old daughter of the chief of police, that's wickedly dangerous in the worst of ways."

"You have concerns," I state.

"Wouldn't you if you were me? What if Bella lets herself get pregnant? Or what if her father found out and decided to take matters into his own hands against you?"

I sat there with my head turned, watching her worry transform her features into creases and shadows.

We both remain quiet letting Esme's words hang low and heavy in the air.

"She just called me, Bella, asking to see me tomorrow," Esme tells me.

"Mmm," I say as my fingers absently work her muscled legs. "What did you tell her?"

Esme remains silent for a couple of moments before answering my question.

"I told her to come over. Why not? Either I condone this, or end it, isn't that the question?"

I search her face looking for malice or contempt but find none.

"If that's what you want," I tell her.

"What do _you_ want? I can get you out of this if that's what you would like, if you're bored with her or done with her, or," she trails off as she waves her hand to complete her thought. "How do you feel about her?" Esme asks, her eyes searching my face for any evidence of an answer.

I mull her question over, wondering how best to respond. If I want to respond. If Esme deserves a response.

I'm not a man who enjoys uncertainty.

"You can answer honestly, it's just me," Esme gently prods.

Without more thought, I answer. "I'm captivated by her."

"Mind, body and soul?" She asks with unusual trepidation.

"Mind, possibly. Body, most definitely. Soul, not nearly," I answer, shaking my head.

I look over to find my wife fidgeting with the edge of her sweater. I reach over and put my finger under her chin and draw her gaze to meet mine.

"Talk to me," I ask her.

"I don't want you falling in love with her."

"I could say the same to you about Lana," I counter.

Esme ignores the Lana comment.

"She'll be leaving for college in the fall, you're not going to go chasing after her, or are you?" She says, her teasing, false, it's hiding an insecurity.

"Yes, that's what I plan to do, actually. Move into her dorm and be her big poppa. Really, Esme, you're concerned about this?"

"I was once a girl like Bella and you fell in love with me."

"You were never a girl like Bella and I fell in love with you because you were older and wiser, and knew where to get the best ice cream on the island."

"Speaking of, I'd like to spend a month at least at Martha's Vineyard next summer."

"I'll call my mother and see when she plans on using the house. I won't be able to be there for a month, but I can do a week, maybe 10 days."

"Did you know at age four we would be together?"

"I knew I'd follow you around for forever looking for the best ice cream. You wouldn't have had it any other way."

"So close to a tender moment yet botched in your very special way, my darling, my Carlisle." She gives me a sly look and a sardonic smile.

"You said you restocked the liquor cabinet?"

x

"Carlisle."

"Esme," I answer in return, she's calling me from her car.

"I'm on my way to pick up Lana, we're going to Seattle until Tuesday night. I've left you provisions and have your suits to take to the dry cleaner you like in the city. I'll have your shirts laundered and pressed as well. Anything else you need help with?"

"No, I want my shirts on hangers though, not folded, I don't like the creases." Every time, Esme got them folded, I think they were easier to transport in the thin cardboard box, rather than being hung up and trying to fit in her car.

"How was your morning?" Making me ask about her coffee date with Bella is more bothersome than I care to admit.

"Oh, yes," she feigns absentmindedness. "She brought me a gift, two, actually."

Jesus Christ, it's a fucking coffee klatch of the two women I'm sleeping with.

"You sound surprised," I say as I click through next week's office calendar. The supply rep was scheduled and I wanted to be present. Last time she tried to sell Siobhan on the idea of brown exam table paper that they were developing, claiming it would be friendly to, or of, or for the environment. That may very well be the case but I wanted to make it clear I was running a Doctor's office, not a family restaurant with plastic cups filled with crayons and sticky ketchup bottles.

"Surprised she brought me a gift? Yes, I was, and more surprised by how clever her gifts were," she says with the air of one-upmanship I've become accustomed to. Esme wants to start a contest of who Bella likes better. I don't have the heart to tell Esme that I'm fairly certain I'd win that competition. Unless of course Bella developed a desire for female companionship, and even if she did, I don't think she'd seek Esme out for such activities.

"I'm sorry, Esme, you were saying?"

"She brought me over two biographies of women who were in open marriages. Can you imagine something like that? I wouldn't have thought Bella had that kind of flare."

"Mmm," I say in response, thinking back to her narration while she stripped for me. That was _flare_.

"She was very forthright," She pauses, wondering if I'm paying attention to her.

"I suppose she is. Is there a particular reason why you're saying this?"

Esme takes a deep breath through her nose before releasing it in a fortifying manner.

"I thought this was what I wanted," Esme says, small traces of lament lacing and twining around her words. "But when she came over on Tuesday, I hated her. I wanted nothing more than to diminish her because," she pauses like the next part would be difficult. "I realized I was being selfish and greedy."

I keep my mouth shut, turning my back to the computer screen, waiting her out while turning her words over in my mind.

"I can't have it all. I can't keep you for myself unless I give the same back to you." Through the Bluetooth, I hear her take deep breath letting it out audibly. "I'm just not ready to give myself back to you entirely."

Our lives together had been spent with a silent agreement; follow or lead when needed or wanted. Esme was currently the one leading.

"Things will remain status quo, is what you're saying?" I ask as a question but it was more of a confirmation.

"That's what I'm saying. I'm at Lana's, I'll call you when we get to Seattle."

"Please do," I say, turning back around to my computer screen.

"I love you, Carlisle." And with that, she hung up to meet up with her lover.

x

I slowly swirl my apple while sitting outside and watch the moon disappear behind the heavy storm clouds moving in.

_Mind, body and soul?_

_I can imagine crawling into that brain of hers and laughing at the ridiculousness she probably comes up with. It would be like falling down a rabbit hole_.

_I hated her_.

The drops of rain begin to fall, but I'm not ready to go back inside, yet. I get up and raise the patio umbrella and make a note to build a partial roof in the spring. Poor design planning not having solid cover.

The rain is slow, working itself up for a strong and steady release. It beats along the top of the waxed canvas cover, circling me while I sit at the table. I hear the wetness penetrate the soft, lush earth just beyond where I sit.

Isabella's charged narrative again replays through my mind; what she does on these rainy nights after everyone's gone to sleep. I wonder if that's what she's doing now. Opening her pajama top, running her hands up her stomach, along her ribs, fanning over her breasts and gripping them. Knowing she needs more, pushing her clothing off of her completely, touching herself while the rest of the neighborhood slumbers around her.

I contemplate finding out.

_Mind, body and soul?_

_I hated her_.

I reach for my phone and enter her number. She answers and it's obvious to me I've interrupted; my closed-mouth smile is slow and satisfied as it spreads along my face.

"It's raining on a Sunday night." I turn, lean back and stretch my legs out in front of me, reaching over for my tumbler of scotch.

"Yes, it is," she whispers slowly, expectantly.

Is this what my life's been reduced to?

I ask her if she's in bed.

"Yes," she lisps out, the corner of my mouth creeps up.

"What are you thinking about?" I ask.

I can see her nipples hardening and her shoulders blades moving back like outstretched wings.

"I'm thinking about you," she answers me as the rain picks up its pace.

"What about me?"

How many more weekends will Esme be spending in Seattle with her lover?

"I'm imagining a different scenario in your office than what was last Tuesday."

I laugh, of course she is.

"Is that so?" I lead her on.

"Yeah," she labors out, stretching out the moment while I'm certain she's circling her clit.

"I don't want to interrupt you, then," I tease, wanting to make her squirm, wanting to hear her beg and sound desperate and need me to make her come.

_It would be like falling down a rabbit hole_.

But then, as has been typical fashion between us, she guilelessly shifts to ask for what she wants, taking what she needs.

"Talk to me," she breathes out like a French film star.

I shouldn't be surprised she wants me to talk dirty to her. I briefly entertain the option before deciding not to. She was already on her way to getting herself off; I want to hear where she goes with it.

"Mmm, no, I want to hear you. Words or sounds, it's you I want to hear," I tell her, enjoying my evening solitude.

Isabella is quiet for several moments and I close my eyes imagining where her hands are moving and touching and feeling.

I adjust my cock and realize she must be at home by herself.

_Mind, body and soul?_

"You make me so very wet."

"I like doing that to you," I tell her. She's predictable in very pleasant and pleasurable ways.

"Are you touching yourself?"

I smile to myself. Funny girl. So confident and unabashed one moment and near desperate for reassurance the next. I reach for my drink and apple slices and lean back, closing my eyes and don't wonder why I'm doing this.

This momentary introspection passes and I continue on.

"Listening to you is satisfying enough. The way your body shifts and writhes when you're building up to an orgasm. The way your rich, red lips separate and sound comes from the back of your throat. How your hair looks spread across my bed, and how your eyes close long before you come, like you want to shut out all around you and only feel the sensations and hear our breathing." For fuck's sake, she purrs. She'd make the most phlegmatic of men palm their dicks wanting to get her to make that sound.

"Oh Carlisle," falls from those illicit red lips.

I reach over and find my scotch and again get comfortable. She takes her time. I hear the murmurings, the gasps and the fevered pitches of her striding to reach her little death.

"I'm so close," she says to me. I hear the phone drop onto scratchy sounding sheets. I can picture her chest rising and falling, her tongue slowly wetting those lips, that middle finger coaxing her swollen clit towards completion.

I move to adjust my cock and again don't ask myself why I'm doing this. Or why I'm not with a drug rep or nurse from the city. Or why I didn't ignore Esme when she alluded to this. And I don't think about any of those things as I listen to Bella reach her climax; so long, so satisfying, so very unacceptable outside the confines of my marriage and its agreements.

_Mind, body and soul?_

_It would be like falling down a rabbit hole_.

_I hated her._

"That was stunning," I tell her. "Good night, Isabella."

I hated her.

* * *

A/N Carlisle's being ambiguous, don't assume it's Bella, or do, we'll have to see what happens.

So yeah, let me know what you think, if Esme henpecks Carlisle or if they hold their own against one another. Or if you've changed your opinion on Esme since many of you dislike her. Personally, I'd want to hang out with her at a hotel bar and have her give me a running critique on all the guests. She'd most definitely drink some sort of martini, probably a dirty.

Happy (belated) birthday, Coco, cool your jets.


	12. Chapter 12

Stephenie Meyer's Twilight: will they be remaking this series in 25 years like they've remade Footloose and are planning to remake Scarface? In 25 years time, I don't know if I'll want to say hello to anyone's little vampire friend.

If you're still tuning in to this story, this is a insanely long chapter, you might want to sit down with a nibble and a beverage.

I try and proofread these beasts myself, I know I make errors. Hopefully they're not offensive and that it doesn't affect the meaning or intention of what's being read.

* * *

Chapter 12

In the 1950s when researchers "discovered" REM sleep, scientists would wake test subjects up in the middle of a REM cycle and have them describe their dreams. Vivid, colorful, hallucinogenic-like tales described to researchers recording their findings.

I shudder to wonder what those researchers would think by just examining my daydreams. Orgasmic, fantastical, desperate, feverish, hungry and clutching images, all taking place in my mind. Darkened corners, moonlit rooms, against cars or buildings; everywhere ripe with possibilities and hours are spent with my mind wandering to these imaginary places and scenes.

I used to imagine things like my skirt being dragged upwards, fingers entering my needy wet and swollen kitty, pressing and building before forcefully and completely being filled by the first deep thrust of an impossibly erect and perfectly hard cock building to satisfy my want and my endless need of heat and body.

Lately, I've had these distractions playing on a near constant loop like old propaganda films in a locked down country and it's starting to have an effect on me. 24/7, anytime, anyplace and I can be ready, willing and able; I'm a constant sexual being. And having Carlisle talk to me and listen to me last night has only heightened my readiness to dangerous levels. I'm a living, breathing code orange.

In World History, my daydreams leave the semester's review of the Roman Empire behind while I travel to the more illicit and grittier recesses of my mind.

The lack of my urban experience of commuting doesn't stop the picture from painting in my mind. An evening rush of dirty subway trains and underground passageways and me leading Carlisle to a small nook away from prying eyes and pressing him against a dank stone wall becomes the scene I want to live.

My fingers would move to deftly undo his leather belt and unhook and unzip his pants, pushing them down just enough so I can reach and stroke the eager line of his hard cock and cup his balls to make him close his eyes and involuntarily buck his hips to my assured touch. Eyes closed, his voice mirroring my actions, equal in control and authority he would say, "Bella," as the air whipped around us in the wake of a streaking train filled with the unseeing eyes of weary commuters.

He would move and grab my hips turning me back against the stone wall. I would lean forward at his perceived control of the situation and with breath hot and moist in his ear, I would whisper, "Carlisle," so seductively slowly that I would momentarily disarm him.

My fingers, desperate for the sensation of a touch, even my own, would move underneath my skirt to coat my digits with wetness before bringing them up and pressing them into Carlisle's mouth and his loath-to-admit-it, eager tongue. I would watch as he closes his eyes and briefly allow himself to submit to the taste of me and to the placement of my fingers.

He would then take my wrists and move them against the wall, imprisoning our palms flat against one another's and above my head, his body pressed up deliciously against mine. Neither the grime of years of neglect nor the scrape of the rough stone is felt as I wait for him to move forward with this public debauchery.

Carlisle would move his head to my neck, his teeth gently biting and his lips blowing a husky whisper across my wet and sensitive skin.

"Bella," he would say again, but this time sounding amused which makes no sense, I don't know what would be so amusing.

I would resume my grinding against his thigh, practically circling my hips desperate for him to do something to me. My breath, anticipatory and loud, is lost to the passing of another train, more people oblivious to our public debasement.

"Bella," is said again, this time with laughter in his voice. I still my movements and hold my breath wondering why he would be laughing at me.

"Swan," a finger flick to the back of my head accompanies a voice that isn't Carlisle's. It's Emmett's.

I sigh, realizing I was lost in a moment of my making. Keeping my head down in obvious cover up, I surreptitiously let my eyes quickly scan the room for any laughing, whispering or open mocking and pointing.

I find nothing, thankfully, and return to the review of early history of our world and looking forward to the ring of the bell. My breathing returning to normal.

"Jesus," Emmett teases when we leave class. "Who were you thinking about, ya little freak," Emmett asks me and his dimples are fully in effect. How does Rose resist those?

"God, Emmett," I say quietly as I close my eyes. "Was it obvious? I couldn't help myself," I say as I think of a distraction to tell him.

"Obvious to me, you tart. So spill, you thinking about me and my manly gun show," Emmett teases as he flexes his broad and muscular chest and arms. I kind of wonder how Rose gets through each day without mounting his leg; he's so easy and good-natured wrapped up in a giant buff package. I come up with a fib that should distract him from any further questioning of my mind's wandering.

"You remember when we had that early warm weather last spring and the three of us went to the beach?" I begin, dropping my voice.

"Yeah," Emmett responds, uncertain of what I'm going to tell him.

"Rose and I were out in the water, and Rose had that new bikini, that orange one." There was no way anyone could forget that bikini, Rose looked like a felony in it. "And I was wearing one of her old ones, that green one, it was a little small?" I ask as a question and he takes the bait so easily. And if he really recalled that day, he would remember between our pasty white skin and the colors of our swim suits, we looked like the flag of Ireland.

Emmett shrugs a little bit and nods his head.

"Yeah, well something happened when Rose and I were out in the water. I kind of think about it all the time, I just," I tell him, lowering my voice further like I'm ashamed. "I just can't help myself," I slightly shake my head in mock disbelief.

"What happened?" Emmett asks practically whispering and looking around the hallway to see if anyone else is listening to us.

"I shouldn't tell you this, I've never even said anything to Rose about it, but fuck, I don't think I can keep it in anymore. I feel like it's bigger than just me, you know?"

He slowly nods his head this time, eyes like giant moonstones.

"So we're out there and a big wave hits us and we both lose our tops, it was like you couldn't ask for a more porn moment." I wait a moment to let the image expand and fill Emmett's mind.

"Rose was able to grab my top, and I got hers, we were totally laughing about it, teasing each other, playing keep away, stuff like that."

"Where was I?" Emmett asks, most likely ready to impale himself that he missed all this.

"I don't know, maybe you went to the woods to take a pee or something. I wasn't really paying attention to anyone else but Rose." I'm pretty sure Emmett will never pee again when Rose and I are together.

"Oh," he says, more than a little desperately. "So then what happened?"

I moved in closer to Emmett and he nearly stoops down to press his ear to my lips, afraid he'll miss what I was saying.

"Oh, God, Emmett, it's so hard," I nearly licked against the word _hard_ and grab his forearm.

"Yo-, you can tell me," the poor bastard nearly whines.

"I took her top to bring it down over her boobs, you know, to help her back on with it," I mimicked my words by gently ghosting my hands over my breasts just barely touching my nipples. My shoulders were thrown back and I was wearing my mesh bra today, between my story and my earlier fantasy I was clearly worked up. I couldn't have asked for better. I started to breathe deeply for effect.

"My hands, Em, I couldn't stop myself with her luscious tits, I just," I slowly close and reopen my eyes, licking my lips at the same time. "I just had to touch them. I'd been fantasizing about them for ages. I wanted to know what they felt like, if they were soft or firm. How big her nipples were and what color, everything, I barely was able to stop myself. But I wanted to taste, to lick, to touch, everything, all so desperately," I nearly cry out. "Emmett," I say, "it was fucking glorious. It was every fantasy of mine fulfilled. For those few, brief minutes, my world was whole."

Emmett was standing there, his mouth almost hanging open. He might've stopped breathing.

"She never said anything," he finally chokes out, and I swear I can see tears welling up in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry Emmett, I hated myself afterwards, I felt like I was trying to get Rose to cheat on you. She didn't, it was all me, I'm so sorry. Rose is so very," I pretend to think hard for the best adjective, "hot." I take my hand and slowly pull my fingers through my hair, slightly tilting my head back.

"Oh, well, this is me. I'll see you later," I turn and enter my classroom and leave Emmett to hold his Trig book in front of him as he walks to his next class.

"Bells, honey, uh, I want to talk to you."

Nothing good has ever come out of anyone saying, _I want to talk to you_. If I weren't suddenly plunged into a state of gripping fear, I would have heard the trepidation and slight reluctance in my father's voice. But then again, he kind of always sounds like that.

"Um, yeah," I look up from the dishes in the sink. Charlie is getting ready to leave early for work tonight.

"How many are we having for dinner on Thursday?"

"I don't know Dad, did you invite anyone? Are Billy and Jake going to come?" My father has said very little about the breakup between Jake and myself. Jake's new girlfriend has made every effort to parade him around like a pig in a 4H show. Even Emmett noticed and asked Jake if he was ever allowed off leash. Jake laughed at it probably not understanding Emmett's insult.

"Yeah, talked to Billy today, he and Jake are coming by. Jake might be leaving early though," my dad said, fiddling with his button placket.

Fuck, I might as well be wearing a doormat as a dress. "Dad, I don't mind cooking for Jake and Billy, I've always done it, but I'm not cooking something to tide Jake over until he makes it over to his new girlfriend's house. That's crap. Either he's here for the entire meal, like always, or he's not here at all."

"Language, Bella," Charlie's ire is up.

"Crap? Dad, you know that's bullshit," I say, moving the subject back to Jake. "It's disrespectful of you, too." That was a gratuitous dig, but I don't really care.

Charlie sighs and doesn't comment on my blue language.

"I'm not getting into this with you, Bella. Jake was wrong, but be the bigger person."

This was a scolding from my father and I am equal parts petulant and chastened.

I let out a puff of air, irritated by a holiday that up until this year, I loved for always being so casual and comfortable.

"So, four of us," I state, resigned.

"I invited someone, three, actually," Charlie is clearly uncomfortable by this announcement.

Thanksgiving in the Swan household is a revolving door of misfits. It used to be frozen turkey dinners; my dad, Billy, Jake, myself and sitting in front of the TV watching football or the Charlie Brown special. When I was 12, I tried my hand at cooking an actual turkey dinner and a pecan pie. I've been doing it ever since. Charlie would invite the random single or newly divorced cop or bowling or fishing buddy over for a home cooked meal and some company.

I enjoyed cooking, the men were appreciative of my kitchen acumen and sitting down to the table I set with care. I felt like a new and improved version of the stilted, outdated and strictly Caucasian version of that Norman Rockwell illustration. This year, though, everything seems different and more of a hassle than an achievement.

"Okay," I say, not wanting to make my dad feel more awkward than he was. "Um, who's coming by?"

Charlie's shoulders do not relax, and his eyes are reluctant to meet mine.

"Sue Clearwater, and Seth and Leah, her children" he adds. Charlie continues to bother with his shirt.

"Oh," I quickly try to regroup at my surprise, "that'll be – nice. I haven't seen Seth for months."

After Harry Clearwater died a couple of years ago, dropping dead of a heart attack after making a batch of his greasy, yet oddly beloved fish fry, all the men of their group went and got long overdue checkups and with those, a list of warnings and restrictions. Charlie's blood pressure was slightly elevated so he switched to red wine instead of beer. It was comical, the glass jug of Ernest and Julio Gallo sitting on top of the fridge and the jelly jar with the traces of a burgundy stain each night. He finally gave it up after three months and took up jogging instead and giving the excuse that he missed the pop of the can of beer opening. It was obvious he felt his manhood was in question when he'd be at the bar ordering a glass of house red instead of a can of Coors.

I wasn't up for asking Charlie if he was dating Sue, but thought of the past couple of months where he claimed work and did not come home. I wonder if my mom knows anything about this. If for nothing else, my parents, or at least my mom, made efforts to talk to one another every month or so, whether it was about me or their lives, I didn't know.

Three more for dinner means another trip to the grocery store. There are few places worse than a grocery store the week of Thanksgiving. Choosing the lesser of two evils, I sit down and send a text to my mom.

-**Is Charlie dating, do u know?**

**-Have u asked him directly?**

**-NO!**

**-U should xoxo**

Her reply did not answer my question and I curse the day Phil taught her how to text.

I channel my frustration into the grocery list I need to make.

Siobhan scheduled me for Tuesday and Wednesday for work at Carlisle's office. She said she didn't want me to miss the hours but I knew it was so some of the front office could take time off. I didn't care, I was happy to have the time, plus the extra time from Newton's for the long weekend. The extra hours would allow me to replenish what I spent for Esme's books and cover gas through the holidays and still keep on schedule for my college account.

When I make it to my desk in back I'm eager to catch a glimpse of Carlisle, to hopefully have him give me one brief look to acknowledge me. While I am desperate for the sight of his face and the flash of his eyes, I just want a flicker of a connection. Something between us that recognize the wrong things we share.

But he doesn't. I get a distracted, "Bella," as I pass him in the hallway on my way to the printer. It's no different than any other day and I chide myself for wanting anything different.

In fact, the more I think about it the more I realize it's actually perfect. Esme had offhandedly mentioned there were no others. I am satisfied that amidst women making casual passes and come-ons towards him throughout each day, it's me that's had his cock satisfy me and my aching for more. It's me he likes to look at with my hair spread across _his_ pillow with my eyes closed breathing in the both of us. It's me he calls on a Sunday night just to listen while I jill myself off. And for me, I remind myself, that's all I need or want at the moment.

I pack my stuff and go to the grocery store.

After getting all the additional fixings for our holiday dinner, I make my way to the soda aisle knowing that since I'm now also cooking a ham I need some ginger ale to baste it.

I am surprised when I run into Esme standing there, staring at a shelf of soft drinks but appearing to not really seeing anything.

"Hi, Esme," I say calmly knowing she is not her normal, playfully insulting and slightly jeering self.

She turns her head to me without rush and looks just long enough to seem like she's placing my face and acknowledging my presence.

"Lovely Bella," she says without the normal hint of mocking that I have come to expect.

"Um," I want to ask if she's okay but that is too prying. I settle for a more general inquiry. "How are you?"

Upon further inspection I see her hair is filled with fly-aways and her normally subtle makeup is gone, save for a swipe of mascara. She looks pale to the point of drawn. The rims of her eyes hint to being red and swollen.

"Mmm," she shrugs dismissively and distractedly. "I'm afraid I have to leave my Carlisle unexpectedly for the holiday and for the life of me I can't seem to figure out what sort of mixer he would want for his cocktails."

She turns back as if to study the difference between seltzer, club soda and 7-Up. I know this is not actually the case. Her hand moves to push her hair back into place and I turn to look with her.

If someone would have asked me a couple of weeks ago if I would have had the capacity to feel sorry for Esme, I would have scoffed, but in this moment I feel no need to exact any type of revenge in the form of kicking someone when they're down. Esme is clearly down.

"Is there something I can do? You seem," I search delicately for the proper phrase so as not to insult or offend, "out of sorts." This is the type of thing my grandma would have said, an all encompassing yet vague declaration that lends itself to the show of concern.

After several moments Esme cocks her head towards me again, eyeing me and surmising me. I might have felt uncomfortable with this a few weeks ago, but by my account, everything has been put on the table between Carlisle, Esme and me. Esme is bisexual and doesn't trust me, Carlisle's needs are primal and I enjoy getting off. All this having been put forth, I don't wither under her assessment.

"I have to go to New York. My cousin," she stops for a beat before speaking again, "she's like a sister really," her gaze trails off to focus on nothing before meeting my eyes again. "She," Esme pauses briefly, "it's her hour of need, I suppose." Esme's dismissive tone of sarcasm is betrayed by the distant and defeated look on her face.

"Oh." I try to recover myself and come up with something reassuring and comforting to say. "Um, well, I'm certain she'll be glad to have you with her." The image of Esme offering hot toddies and petit fours as her version of comfort fills my mind.

Esme goes back to looking at the shelf and I move to get the ginger ale.

"I imagine Carlisle doesn't need any mixers, he probably wants to have his drink straight." I realize too late what that statement must have sounded like, Carlisle wanting something straight. I give, what I know is a wary smile and Esme raises her eyebrows at the unintended dig.

"That could possibly be the case, but he's adaptable to what's in the house."

I'm certain my misstep has been the highlight of Esme's day.

"Okay, well, um, best," of what do I wish her, "of luck. I hope things go well for you," I say turning to leave and practically hanging my head in shame and embarrassment.

In an unusual move Esme takes my sentiment without any subtext. "Thank you and I hope you enjoy your holiday."

"I will try, thanks." I tell her and slink off to try and obliterate any memory of this little exchange.

Getting home I walk in and my phone starts ringing, it's Rose.

"What did you do to Emmett, he nearly dry humped me in the hallway outside of my Home Ec class."

I laugh and tell her the story from earlier in the day.

Rosalie huffs in playful irritation.

Wednesday after lunch I find myself back at the doctor's office, school having let out early for Thanksgiving. While it's not frantic, the flow is steady and I've been busy answering impatient calls from pharmacists and healthcare workers wanting to tie up loose ends before the start of the holiday.

One call I cannot put off and leads me to go to the front desk to have our physician's assistant handle. About to turn the corner back to my desk when I hear a vaguely familiar voice.

"We'll go pick up the vitamins, okay, right?" the tinny and piercing voice says.

I stop dead looking at the backs of the two people.

"Yes, that's right, the prescription's being sent in now," Dr. Cullen responds with his calm doctor voice.

"Okay, so, we don't need our parents to sign anything, right, they're just vitamins, right?"

"Perhaps, Kim, you would like to go into my office and we can discuss this privately?" Dr. Cullen offers, authoritatively leading.

"Oh, no, this is okay, right, it's just vitamins, I mean, everything is like, you know, confidential, right?"

I waver slightly, my now jellied legs unable to turn around and get the hell out of here. Carlisle sees my movement and catches my eye as Jake's grip around Kim's waist tightens.

"Well, it's confidential within the confines of an exam room or my office, in the hallway, everything is fair game," Carlisle's eyes twinkle at his subtle chastisement.

"We're fine, Dr. Cullen, we can figure this stuff out on our own," Jake says, finding his voice.

I remain silent; my shoulders sag at the situation unfurling in front of me.

Carlisle, in a rare moment of understanding, slightly tips his head in the direction of his office, allowing me access to the privacy of his office.

I have to practically shake my head to reengage the necessary brain matter to move my feet, I turn and walk to safety.

"I'm here, Jake, so you don't have to figure this _stuff_ out on your own, let's go back in the room," I hear Carlisle say as I shut the door and lean my back against a wall for support. I stop myself from sinking to the floor; I'm stronger than that.

I sit on the uncomfortable chair across from Carlisle's desk for several mind boggling minutes and wonder how long I should stay in here, my foot twitching roughly through my anger and irritation.

What I'm angry at, I do not know.

Sitting through my indecision, I hear the door open and close quietly. Carlisle's white dress shirt and plain front dark slacks move to the water cooler and pull a cup of water and hands it my way. He leans against his desk.

Taking a deep breath, I look up into his eyes. "She's pregnant." It isn't a question. I know it's the truth but confirmation from the scene I just witnesses is needed for me to process it.

"I cannot discuss a patient's case." He's looking at me, his work composure unerring.

I feel my pulse thrum unsteadily in my neck and wrists. I close my eyes and sip at the paper cup of water being lightly crushed in my hands.

"You should return to work," he calmly tells me, reaching for the paper cup. The only indication that this is anything other than an associate's meeting with her boss is the slightly lingering look to my lips and the brief adjustment to his neck and shoulders.

The slight flex of his moderate muscles is enough to distract me and I'm grateful to him. To unexpectedly come across your former, philandering boyfriend, your first, and find out his life has changed forever is jarring. Jake's last days of youth abruptly cut short and part of me wants to slap him for being so careless and the other part wants to hold him for what will never be, for how irresponsibly he's set his future, for not stopping the moment to say he'll put on a condom.

I stand and smooth my skirt down and look back up to Carlisle, his fingers in a relaxed curl around the edge of his desk.

I take a step towards him, we're almost toe to toe. He reaches out and puts his index finger under my chin and looks me in the eyes.

"You're okay," he tells me with the slightest of nods.

"Yeah," I turn and walk to the door to leave before turning back in his direction. "Thank you."

I can't help but imagine being tangled up in Carlisle's luxurious white sheets, my bare back to his naked front and an arm loosely wrapped around my middle, sated and secure from an outside world.

I'm approaching Thanksgiving with a sense of unease. I know I can make a meal people will enjoy, I've done it six times already but never one where I knew my former boyfriend was carrying the weight of becoming a father. Or that a woman my father may or may not be dating was going to be present along with her family.

These thoughts were weighing heavily on me as I sauté the onions and celery for both stuffing and dressing, the 21 pound bird sitting on the counter next to me waiting to be seasoned and cooked.

"Bells," my dad said as he walked into the kitchen after a 12 hour shift.

"Hi, Dad," I reply as I turn up the heat.

Charlie pours himself a glass of milk and sits at the table.

"I stopped your boss's wife last night," Charlie tells me as he rubs his hand over his face.

I chuckle, "Oh yeah, Mrs. Newton? Well, it wouldn't be the first time." Mrs. Newton was known to have a heavy foot, she always claimed it had to do with her slight case of gout. My dad said it was her slight case of lead-in-foot. He always laughed at his own joke.

"No, not this time," he said with a tired laugh. "It was Esme Cullen."

At the utterance of her name, my heart's beat picks up and I grip the wooden spoon tighter than necessary.

"I let her off with a warning; she seemed kinda worried, said she was trying to get a flight _out East_," Charlie mocked in a snooty voice before putting a slice of bread in the toaster.

"Uh, yeah, she was probably on her way to Seattle, she had to go home or something. I saw her in the grocery store the other day," I added as an explanation of the comings and goings of the Cullens.

"I was thinkin' you should invite Dr. Cullen over for dinner tonight, sounds like he's gonna be alone."

My father probably thought he was just blithely adding to the band of revolving reject dinner guests, it was anything but. I feel the cold sweat breaking out on my forehead and my stomach lurching uncomfortably. I keep my teeth clenched in hopes of avoiding the swells of nausea roiling in my abdomen and chest.

"I don't, I just, do I have to?" I finally stammer and choke out sounding whiny and childish.

My dad gives me an odd look. "He's a man alone on a family holiday, you know how hard that can be, be a good girl and give him a call."

That's the thing; I'm not a good girl.

"I'll call him later," looking at the clock and seeing it is only 7:30 and hoping in Charlie's post shift stupor he'll forget his goodwill.

"He's been good to you, Bells, he'll be happy for the invite."

Ole Charlie would be whistling a different tune if he knew what kind of _good_ Carlisle's been to me.

Charlie makes his way to his bedroom leaving me to have my own panic attack / moment of reckoning / mental breakdown / check all of the above, in peace. Good guy, my father.

I go back to my tasks at hand, gnaw my lip and hope for all cell towers and phone lines not to work for the rest of the day.

At 11:30, my dad comes back into the kitchen where I'm pulling out the plates to set up a buffet at the dining room table, with the added guests, a sit down meal won't work.

"Hey, Bells, you mind if I make myself a sandwich? What time is dinner?"

"You said people were getting here by 2:30, I'd thought we'd serve by 3:15, you're the one who planned all these people."

Charlie's eyebrows rise in reaction to my snapping.

"You call Doctor Cullen yet?" Apparently Charlie isn't letting my attitude stop his desire to have a full house of a Thanksgiving.

"No," I say trying to look busy opening a can of chicken broth, but the action of piercing two triangle openings into it with the bottle opener is not really making a case for myself. Maybe if I hoist this anvil sized bird from the oven he'll get the hint.

Suiting up with oven mitts and an exaggerated wipe to my dry brow, I make to open the oven door.

"After you baste the bird, give him a call."

I can't decide if Charlie is authoritative or just passive-aggressive.

"Fine," I sneer, but mostly to myself.

After wrestling unnecessarily with the turkey, I stand inside the doorway of the kitchen and call Carlisle, he answers with a distracted and decidedly grumpy _hello_.

"Um, hi, Dr. Cullen, this is Isabella Swan," Charlie's in the next room so I've resigned myself to sound meek and uninviting.

"Ah, Ms. Swan, from the office, yes?"

Okay, not so bad, his teasing sounds pleasant enough.

Wait, that's bad, I don't want him here.

Fuck, I should have come up with a plan prior to calling him.

"Uh, Dr. Cullen, um, my dad, Charlie, he said I should invite you to dinner since you're by yourself."

"Bella," my father says his voice deep and reproachful coming from the other room.

"We thought it would be nice since Es-,' I stop myself from being too familiar, "your wife had to leave out of town."

Amused chuckle comes from my phone at the expense of my reluctantly extended invitation.

"And what would the Swan household be serving at this dinner?"

I hear Carlisle swallow and ice cubes clink at his question.

"Um," what a dumb question, "well, we're having turkey, and, you know, dressing, and stuff."

Charlie clears his throat.

"We'll be serving a traditional turkey dinner." I feel like a hostess at a Ponderosa.

"Sweet potatoes?" Carlisle asks.

"Yeah, sweet potatoes," I answer and wonder if that's his favorite carb.

"I see, so are these sweet potatoes cooked with marshmallows?" His teasing turns mischievous and I clench my thighs together at thoughts of gooey marshmallows and me.

"No, I'm afraid not, Dr. Cullen, just some sweet butter, we try to watch our sugars intake," I try for covertly coy bearing in mind my father is in the next room.

"Mmm," he ponders, "and what about a nice pecan pie, do you serve that, sticky and sweet filling to end a full meal?"

He causes me to lick my lips involuntarily.

"Yes," my suddenly hoarse voice chokes out.

"And do you put whipped," pause, "cream on top that piece of pie?"

My eyes briefly flutter shut as my body tightens throughout.

"Yes. I whip it by hand so it's in perfect peaks." I glance over to Charlie who is dozing slightly between head bobs, the football game lulling him into a nap.

"Naughty girl."

I try to take a moment to compose myself.

"This is bordering on ridiculous," I whisper and hear the ice cubes being softly rattled in his glass. "So, yeah, uh, Dr. Cullen," I say loud enough in case Charlie is listening again. "We're doing a buffet this year. You wouldn't have to bring anything but yourself. People are coming by around 2:30 or so. It's a casual affair."

Let's be honest, no part of this could be described as a casual affair.

"As much as an evening watching you squirm would tempt me, I'm afraid I won't be able to attend. Please extend my regrets to your father."

"Um, okay, yeah, I will, he'll be sorry to hear you have plans. Well, I, um, hope you enjoy yourself, Dr. Cullen, have a good holiday."

"And the same to you, Ms. Swan."

I end the call and turn, "He's busy dad, can't make it," I yell and effectively scare the shit out of a dozing Charlie nestled in his BarcaLounger.

Everyone arrives for dinner en masse, Jake and Seth carrying Billy in his wheelchair up our front steps. I ignore the fact that Jake's arms and chest still bulge and ripple in a slightly hypnotic way. I'm grateful when Billy breaks my stare with a comment of how good the house smells.

"Here, Bella, I brought pies for dessert," Sue says in enough of a motherly way that it seems uncomfortable and out of place in our home.

"Thanks, Mrs. Clearwater," I say, the formality sounding awkward and forced. She doesn't tell me to call her Sue so I just take the pies into the kitchen and set them on the counter. I'm looking for the pie server in an excuse to waste time not wanting to face the group of people in the next room.

"Well this has all the potential to being an utter train wreck," Leah says dryly, standing in the doorway.

I close the drawer and turn to look at her, leaning against the sink. I've never known what to make of Leah. Her natural demeanor is angry and she scares me a little bit but at this point, I'm open for any distraction.

"On so many levels," I reply, matching her tone. I'm rewarded with a knowing smile.

"So you know they've been seeing each other since this summer."

"I didn't know the time frame, this week was the first I heard of any of this."

"I was actually talking about Jake and Kim, not my mom and your dad," she clarifies.

"Oh, I guess it doesn't really matter who you're talking about, this whole day is walking a thin line of uncomfortable."

"Oh, it's clearly crossed the line and is fully settled in the land of unpleasant," Leah says, laughing. "The only thing that would be worse would be to have Sam and Emily show up." Her bitterness is not hidden in the least.

"Yeah, that had to be rough," I reply, not exactly certain how familiar we're going to be with one another. It was town grist for the gossip mill when Sam left Leah for her cousin, Emily.

She looks at me and I wonder if she's deciding if she wants to share any more of her personal life; I hope she does not, angry womynhood is unneeded at the moment. Of all things, I'm saved when Jakes walks into the kitchen. He's surprised to see us talking but in his typical boyish interloping, doesn't heed the pact of girl-time.

"Ladies," he says, his eyes lingering just a little longer on me than on Leah.

"Jake," Leah replies as she walks out to the living room.

"Hi Jake, how are you?" Looking at him, he won't meet my eyes, his fingers scratch nervously on his chest before he pushes his hair back behind each ear. I've unwittingly asked a loaded question.

"Yeah, I'm alright," he takes in my appearance, "you're looking good."

Any other time he might have said this, it would have been accompanied with a leering look, but today it's almost wistful. He moves next to me and leans against the counter, looping his pinking with mine.

"I miss talking with you," he says quietly.

"Well it's something you had to give up when you decided to fuck half the girls on the reservation."

Shit, I didn't want to say any of that; this isn't about airing out grievances. Jake drops my hand and sighs.

"Can we just move on from that tonight?"

"Let's just move on from it, period."

We're silent letting the sounds from the other room fill in around us.

"Can I come talk to you tonight?" Jake asks wrapping his pinky around mine again.

This is where my father's words come back to me, to be the bigger person. Jake's facing a future that's unknown to either of us, one that obviously wasn't planned. He needs me as a friend and I can try to be that for him.

"Sure, text me when you're coming by and I'll open the window."

"Thanks," he says as I walk past him to join the others for dinner.

The rest of the meal I spend watching my father who's watching Sue and the shy glances between each another. It makes me ache for unknown reasons.

The thing that bothers me most is the fact that Sue's pie crusts were store bought.

Around midnight my phone vibrates and I know it's not the baritone of the town's doctor. I get up and slide my window open all the way and wait for Jake to soundlessly climb the trellis.

"Hi," he greets after he's hoisted himself masterfully into my room, avoiding the floorboards that squeak. We sit on the floor against my bed; I wait for him to begin.

Except he doesn't begin, he turns his head away from me and wipes his arm across his eyes.

Fuck. This is bad.

"I saw you and Kim, on Tuesday, at the doctor's office."

"Shit, I didn't want to go there, but Kim insisted, her family goes to Dr. Gerandy, I thought you worked on Thursdays."

"I filled in this week. It was totally by accident, I didn't mean to find out at all, it's just, Kim kept talking, I couldn't help but hearing it all. I mean, it was kind of obvious what was going on," I ramble out.

Jake takes a deep breath and lets it out.

"I don't know what to do, Bella."

I wait before saying anything.

"You're going to keep the baby?"

"Yeah, totally."

"You could give the child up for adoption," I offer.

He was quiet for a moment before speaking again.

"I don't really want the thought of my Quileute child out in the world away from its heritage. We're a small nation, it's family and the tribe all woven together. It wouldn't be fair on any side."

Jake's sudden shift of responsibility and heritage surprise me.

"Kim really wants the baby, too."

"What about you?"

"I don't know," he shrugs. "I had hoped to go to JC then get picked up by a Division-1 school. Quarterback, running back, even wide receiver, I know I can make it on the next level. This just," he clenches his lips tightly, "it changes everything."

I think about his short term planning. It's a fraction of student athletes that make it past college. Even making it as a college level athlete is a thin chance. The fact that his dreams were the same as his life plans was precarious at best. I table my irritation at his lack of foresight and try to speak with some pragmatism.

"Jake, you're too talented to base your future on just one thing," I say gently. "What about the voc tech school, enrolling in some mechanic classes when you graduate, you're good with cars and bikes and all of that stuff. We need a good mechanic around here, everybody's cars are old," I smile weakly at my joke.

Jake is silent, his hand making a fist then releasing it, over and over and over again.

"Do you know what it's like to go from being just like everyone else to becoming a star?"

I know Jake well enough not to be offended. I relax my form and let him continue.

"I was just like every guy in freshman football, and then the next year, I could throw ten yards farther, run the 40 fractions of a second faster, read a defense quicker; it all changed. I went from some motherless guy on the res to being someone people wanted to be around because of some physical fluke."

I let Jake continue. In a few years, these will be his glory days, at least for now he can look at this time with some amount of objectivity.

"I was dating you, one of the smartest and prettiest girls around and you kept me in check until I became the starting quarterback. After that, you let me do whatever I wanted. I practically slept with girls in front of you and you never called me on it. Why?"

His question has caught me off guard. My eyes search my dark room to find an answer for him, but he beats me to the response.

"I figured you didn't care about me, or about us," he adds. "I knew you weren't going to be around forever, and once you left this place you'd never come back. I can't leave my dad and I can't leave this place and I can't be just like everyone else."

I feel the tears welling. I want to slap him for being so honest and knowing so much. I want to beat sense into him telling him he can be great wherever he is, he doesn't need the security of a dying town to give him a name. I want to tell him I love him when he's honest and pure like this and that I'm sorry we ever dated and ruined it all. But I don't do any of those things, instead, I climb into his lap and burying my wet cheek into the side of his neck. I feel his warm arms circle around me.

"I'm sorry, Jake," I nearly sob but being careful not to wake Charlie.

"No, baby, don't be sorry. We both fucked it up. We were too stupid to know how good we had it just by being us. But, you know, we gave it a shot, right?" He pulls me back, his massive palms holding my jaw, his thumbs wiping the tears. I can see the boy I was best pals with, the sweet and the sun.

"We'll never have to wonder what could have been, right? We know it was awful," he gives me a boyish, toad catching smile. I want to wrap it up and keep it in my pocket for all the rainy days to come.

I get off his lap and settle back next to him taking his hand in mine, our fingers lacing together.

"I'll be here for you, you can always call me or climb the trellis," I smile.

"Kim's afraid of you," he laughs. "She thinks you're going to girl fight her or something." I see his eyes crinkle and know he's picturing the two of us fighting over him.

"Yeah, she can have you, I've had my fill." I knock my shoulder to his bicep and he brings our hands up and kisses my knuckles. It's endearing.

"It's just kinda scary," he says after several moments.

While the adult in me wants to tell him for every action there's an equal and opposite reaction, I know that's not what this is about. This is about me being a friend to a friend in need.

"You have to tell your dad."

"Ugh," he quietly groans.

"I know, it'll suck, but you're still the golden boy. I imagine Billy will get over the shock then be excited at the prospect of having a grandchild to show off." I hoped this would be the case.

"You want to be there with me when I tell him?" Jake chuckles softly.

"Sure Jake, it'll be as much fun as the first time I had to ask my dad to go with me to buy tampons." I'd rather drink paint thinner than be with Jake when he tells Billy.

Jake stands up, pulling me with him.

"I gotta go, I don't need to be in any more trouble than I already am."

"Yeah," I say trying to think of something to cement this change in our relationship. "I'm glad you came by," my words holding so much more than a basic sentiment.

"Me too," he says as he climbs off the ledge and descends down the trellis.

I go to sleep carrying Jake's weight on my shoulders too.

Friday, while on my lunch break from Newton's, Rose call me.

"Hey, we're going out tonight, no excuses," she tells me.

"I'm gonna be kind of wiped once my shift is over. I've sold a store record of pocket warmers," I tell her with only a slight sarcasm.

"Whatever," she dismisses. "But the fact that you're telling my boyfriend you lust after my tits is any indication, I'm taking you out tonight to find some wiener instead of melons."

"Funny."

"Seriously, Emmett's gone with his Dad to Oregon and Ben's having a party, his parents are out of town or something, it doesn't matter. If for nothing else, I want someone other than me witness the coupling of Angela and Cheney."

"What time?"

"What time, what?"

Rose's obtuseness is irritating. "What time does the party start?"

"Fuck, I don't know, it's a high school party, not a birthday for a five year old, it starts when it starts."

"Alright," I concede. "You want me to drive?"

"Yeah, pick me up around 9:00, tell Charlie you're spending the night, my parents won't care when I get home, you can leave for work tomorrow from my house."

I park my truck and get out and go to ring Rose's doorbell. When she answers, she has a towel wrapped on her head and is in her bathrobe.

"Ready?" I scoff.

"Nearly, Snippy, let me see what you're wearing."

My jeans and orange v-neck sweater are apparently not appropriate.

"What are you, the Great fucking Pumpkin? Here," she moves me out of the way and goes to her closet.

Rose has made an art of thrift stores, eBay and Etsy. She pulls out a green crochet tank top thing that's more see-through than cover.

"Are you kidding me with that? I can't pull that off."

"Don't be stupid, besides," Rose reasons, "house parties are hot and sweaty, you'll be thanking me for saving you from your little wool steam bath you got going on there." Rose finishes by waving her finger at my offensive outfit and turning to her dresser to pull something else out.

"Here, wear this underneath," she gives me a camisole the approximate color of my skin. "See, very respectable," she sticks out her pinky while positioning the rest of her fingers on the tip of her thumb like she's drinking a cup of tea.

"Fine," I take the clothes and go to the bathroom to change. When I reenter Rose's room she looks at me with disdain. "What?" I look down at myself and wonder what the issue is.

"Sister, take your bra off, this," she circles waves her hand at my torso, "doesn't work with some polyester, used to be white but now it's grey bra. No," she shakes her head, smiling.

"I'm not going out without a bra."

"You're 18 and have perky tits to match. If my mother were here she'd be all like," Rose makes her voice sound nasally and upper crust, "'Dear, enjoy your boobs before gravity gets them saggy.' And a bra doesn't work with this." Again she waves her hand in my clothing direction.

"I really don't want to be nips on display tonight."

"First off, it'll be dark, secondly, no one will see your precious nips unless their eyes are glued to your chest three inches from it, and thirdly, who the fuck cares?"

Tired of arguing, I return to the bathroom and remove my bra. After staring at my outfit, inspecting it for signs of nipples, I decide I'm good enough for a dark party.

"Fuckin' finally," Rose smiles when I return to her room. She looks perfect in tight, maroon velvet flares and some gauzy top.

When we get to Ben's it's kind of loud and mostly smells of sweat. I am immediately grateful Rose made me change.

"Come on, beer's in the kitchen," Rose takes my hand and pulls me behind her. It's like she has some internal tracking device for substances.

"What happened to the pure body pact with you and Emmett?"

"He gave me the weekend off as long as no spliff passes these lips," she swirls her fingers in front of her mouth.

"Why's he gone anyways?"

"He and his dad went to go check out Oregon State's campus, I guess they have a good wrestling program," she shrugs and I know she doesn't want to think about leaving Emmett next year.

"Check it out," I tip my chin back and watch as Angela follows Ben up the stairs.

"Dude, I told you! Finally, someone else witnesses!" Rose scream whispers to me.

The night progresses as Rose gets handsy tipsy and the music changes from small town accepted hip hop to some slower stuff, and it's when someone puts on a playlist clearly made for feeling up and tongues that I find my way back to the kitchen and dig around for a soda.

"Hey, you," someone says behind me as I'm bent over a trashcan filled with ice and canned drinks. Who the fuck's going to recognize me by my ass?

I stand up straight, my hands wet and no towel in sight.

"Hello?" I answer some blond guy I don't know.

"Bella, right?"

"Um, yeah," I can't place his face. "Do I know you?"

"Yeah," he exaggerates the word. "I gave you my number at that beach party a while ago."

"Oh, sure, uh," I barely remember meeting him at the beach after Jake and I officially broke up, his name is a complete mystery to me.

"James," he sticks out his hand for me to shake.

"My hands are all wet," I hold them up to show him.

"Here," he extends his jean jacketed arm.

"That's alright, thanks," I wipe my hands on the side of my thighs and I look up to see him smile at me.

"So, you erased my number?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess I must have," I shrug. "Sorry, I had just broken up with my boyfriend, things were kinda off for me."

"You want a beer?"

"No, thanks, I'm driving tonight." I look at this guy and he's handsome in a bland sort of way. Kind of a less depressed looking Kurt Cobain thing going on; if my mom were here, she'd think he was hot and want to relive her youth of grunge and Phish.

"What brought you here tonight?" I ask, wondering why anyone not from Forks High would be here.

"I went to baseball camp with Cheney, he told me he was having a party if I wanted to come by."

"Oh," apparently I suck at party small talk.

"So, can I try to get your number again?"

"Why?" And commenting on my ass will not count for a reason.

His face crinkles up in a cute confusion.

"What do you mean, _why_," he asks, trying to hide a smile.

"You know nothing about me except for seeing me at a couple of parties. We've barely said more than a few sentences to each other."

"Well you've made me curious to find out something about you," he gives me a thoughtful yet well trained look of faux-earnestness to accompany his statement. "And you look really nice tonight."

"You're saying that because I'm wearing a shirt with a lot of holes in it, if I had on an orange wool sweater, you'd probably not notice me at all." God, I suck at this.

"You don't have to call me, but you don't need to cut yourself down either."

I look at him again, this time his eyes are sincere and purposeful.

"I have a sister, she's 12 and she freaks out every time she gets a pimple or doesn't have the right jeans or her hair is wrong. She beats herself up about it and being an older brother trying to tell her she's cool doesn't work anymore. It's just, I don't know, girls are really hard on themselves."

"Boys kind of make us insecure," I answer quickly.

He laughs.

"God, you act like we hold all the power. Don't you get it? All you have to do is snap your fingers and we'll ask how high you want us to jump."

"It doesn't really work that way," I tell him, smiling at his comments. He moves closer to me and I stop myself from moving backwards.

"Yeah, you think that, do you? You couldn't be more wrong."

"We're going to argue about the dynamics of trying to date in high school?" I look up at him at my challenge.

"If you want to, we can," he smiles at his cleverness.

"See, you just shifted the power to me. I think you're too afraid to take the initiative."

"Oh, right, because asking for your phone number on two separate occasions and calling you out for erasing my number wasn't enough of an initiative?"

"You have a point there," I concede lightly.

"Are you going to give me your number? It's my last go at this. I can't stand another rejection from you." His eyes twinkle and it makes me want to see if they twinkle outside of a perspiring house and without a hook up soundtrack playing in the background.

"I'll give you my number," I hold out my hand.

I watch as the smile spreads across his face as he places his phone in my hand.

"Bonheur, we gotta roll, McCauley's puking," some guys yells from the doorway.

"Fucking jocks," James says as he pockets his phone and shakes his head. "Can I call you next week?"

"As long as McCauley's done puking, sure." He laughs and gives me a wink.

I watch as he leaves and I'm alone again. I'm restless at seeing couples coupling. I find Rose in the dining room playing Quarters by herself.

"Bella of the nipples," she greets me with a hand flourish in front of my boobs.

"Rosalie of the hops." I pull up a chair and sit next to her. Mike is sitting across from us, while Jessica leans up against him.

"Listen, I'm thinking I'm going to go, if you can get a ride home. Is that cool?" I ask.

"I can give you a lift, Rose," Mike offers, holding up a bottle of soda.

"A'right," Rose says, "I'm not ready to go yet. Are you okay to drive, though?" She sits up and looks in my eyes.

"Yeah, I didn't drink anything."

"Okay, 'bye nipply." I jut out my chest for her benefit.

"'Bye you guys, thank Mike. I'll call you tomorrow, Ro."

"You betcha," Rose goes back to bouncing quarters into a cup.

I stop in the bathroom on my way out. While the thought of giving my number to a guy holds a certain amount of excitement, it's not fulfilling. At least, tonight it isn't.

Taking my phone from my purse, I go to my contacts and press Carlisle's number.

"Bella," he answers on the fifth ring. He sounds neither surprised, nor irritated. His voice is deep and slow making me clench my thighs together while I decide I have nothing to lose by telling him exactly what I want.

"I want to come over," I state surely and without so much as a preamble.

His chuckle is low and I close my eyes to the sound of it. I take my lip between my teeth to distract me from wanting to put my hand in my panties.

"Is that so?" Amused and disaffected as usual. I picture him swirling his drink around in a heavy glass and wondering if Esme bought any mixers.

"Yes," I breathe out, trying to mask my desperation as coy and mysterious.

"I'll be in the cottage," he tells me without any overture and hangs up saying nothing else.

I arrive at Carlisle's to find a garage door open for me, I pull my truck in and don't bother to take a flashlight to guide my way, I know it well enough. Tonight, all that I am is a tempest looking for a place to land.

Approaching the door, he opens it before I have a chance to knock. His casual attire shouldn't affect me so much. His soft and slightly frayed chinos with his white dress shirt that's nicer than an oxford, open just one button below passing for office propriety covers the chest I want to feel pressed against me, the one I want to scratch with my fingernails.

He's everything I need for just right now. But he's on the phone, he holds the door for me to enter and I stand just inside, not certain what to do. He goes to his bedroom and closes the door behind him.

I remove my coat and set my bag down unobtrusively by the firewood on the hearth. While I make an effort to not listen, I can't help the snippets I hear.

"…_needs stability_…"

"…_going to be committed to this_…"

"…_start an interview process_…'

"…_stability…Seattle…willing to_…"

"…_tomorrow_…_sleep_…_discuss_…"

I start to hum quietly to stop from hearing any more.

Carlisle returns and sets his Blackberry on his desk. His demeanor is calm and not the deliberate control of moments ago.

"Isabella," he tastes on his tongue as he openly takes in my appearance, his sweeping eyes making me forget the overheard conversation.

"Carlisle," I respond with just as much thinly veiled lust as he has. My eyes remain steady to his. I want to devour him and I've made my intention clear as he closes the small space between us.

This week, all around me has been filled with tumult; a low and steady hum of all things changing. While Carlisle is by no means a constant, he's the most constant I have at the moment. This makes me want to devour him if only for some fleeting reassurance. My footing in life has become increasingly less stable.

If for nothing else, I want to feel everything tonight. I want to tell Carlisle that it should be rough, but I'm too afraid my concept of rough and his would be wildly different. Instead I drag my hand up the mounting erection in his pants and I'm pleased when he places his hand on my boob and squeezes.

"Well, you're all sorts of a naughty girl this weekend," he says at the realization that I'm not wearing a bra.

I stand on my tippy toes and take his earlobe between my teeth. "It was the only way I could wear this." Anytime outside of my excited state, I would have sounded ridiculous, but at the moment I can't be bothered to care one way or other.

"I'm certain the high school boys appreciated it," he teases so very wrongly as he drags his fingertips along my side down to my waist. "But I'm the one who gets to see what's underneath," he says smugly as he pulls the crochet top up and over my head.

"I thought you'd appreciate it more," I respond in kind as I move to unbutton his shirt.

"Mmm," is all he says as I untuck his shirt and complete the unbuttoning of it. He takes my hips and moves me to the bedroom.

"Undress for me," he demands in that caramel voice, turning me so I face him as he sits in the edge of the bed and absently scratches the hair on his chest.

I repeat what I did to him that first time we were together, I talk as I remove my clothing.

"I wonder, Carlisle," I drag out as I release the button of my jeans. "Do you get off seeing me remove my clothes for you?" I toe off my shoes and lean over to my raised leg to remove each sock.

He doesn't respond as his smugness returns.

"You're not talkative tonight?" I ask innocently, pausing in mid-unzip of my jeans, teasing him.

"You want me to talk to you?" He asks, extending a silent invitation to take this to a dirtier level.

I nod my head slowly as I stand directly in front of him, just out of his reach.

"Didn't I talk to you last weekend? I seem to recall the moans and breaths of a young woman listening to an older man while she pleasured herself." He smiles like he's clenching a canary between his incisors, the lighting is too low for me to see the wickedly filthy twinkle I know is present in his eyes.

"And you think that's enough?" I finish unzipping my pants and bend to bring them down over my thighs and calves, stepping out of them as skillfully as I can.

"Apparently, it's not enough," he answers.

"You're right, it's not enough," I say as I reach down to pull off my camisole, "I need more."

He shifts to lie on his bed and I move and straddle him, panties being the last remaining clothing on my body, and they don't count for much. I push his open shirt off his shoulders and lightly drag my nails down his chest following with licks and kisses so my head is at his waistband. I look up at him and watch as he stops from moving his hand to my head.

I reach down and stroke upward, "What do you want, Carlisle?" I ask breathing hotly over the fly of his pants. I pull the zipper down, my body sloped downward, my ass raised up lewdly.

"Not that," he says stopping me before I remove his pants.

My eyes flash to his. "Then tell me what you want," I whisper with fire, sitting up and beside him.

"Stand up, take your panties off and get back on the bed," he tells me, his breathing noticeable and his expression intense. I do as I'm told.

He says nothing but watches me while he removes his remaining clothing, putting his folded slacks and boxers over the back of a chair. He returns to the night table next to his bed and takes a condom from the drawer. I watch raptly as he strokes himself several times before sheathing his cock. I think I want to watch him pleasure himself one day. Or maybe just listen to him I speak libidinous things to him over the phone.

"Come over here."

I scoot over the bed.

He leans over and moves the hair away from my face. "Get on your hands and knees," he instructs, biting the lobe of my ear. The action is endearing and out of place between us, but delicious nonetheless.

I situate myself, proudly displaying my ass, the one that James noticed me by earlier in the evening. I look over my shoulder, egging him on.

He strokes my back but keeps me from nudging back against him, it only makes me want it more, I don't stop myself when my finger moves over to rub my clit. I look back towards Carlisle and he's watching me intently.

"Jesus, you're a nasty little thing."

"I'm not. I just can't help myself," I shake my head lightly. "Everything about being here makes me want to feel everything. I pull down your driveway and my whole body starts to tingle. You open the door to this cottage and I want to wrap my legs around you. You wear these country club clothes," he reaches between my legs and strokes my wetness. "Christ," I pant, dropping down to my elbows. "You wear these clothes that scream propriety, when you're just as dirty as I am. I don't think you're any different than me, you just control it better." I bend my elbow up and firmly pinch my nipple, the pain feels divine.

"That's what you think?" He asks guiding his dick along my slickness.

"Isn't it?" I counter.

He doesn't respond as I feel the head of his cock enter me. Unlike other times, I don't wait, I push back on him.

"Oh, God," I stop, dropping my head down, always enjoying this first penetration. It's a sensation I don't think I'll ever tire of, it holds the promise and excitement of so much to come.

"You think I'm the same as you?" He grips my hips and thrusts hard.

"Yes. We're doing the worst possible thing together. You're near twice my age, you're fucking me, an 18 year old," his thrust is even harder this time; it's more than I've ever felt. "You get off on it," I continue to taunt. I wanted it rough. James's words come back to me. I'm snapping my fingers and Carlisle's jumping. "You get off on fucking the only daughter of the police chief."

Our thrusting and gripping and heavy breathing are matching one another in illicit synchronization.

"And you get off being the barely legal girl doing forbidden things. Taunting my wife, taunting me at work, calling me in the middle of the night to come over and yet acting like the perfect little girl to everyone else."

I alternate between pinching my nipple and circling my clit.

Carlisle bends over, moving the hair off my shoulders, his chest sweaty against my slick back, "But you're not a perfect little girl," he thrusts for emphasis, "and I'm the only one who knows it."

He pistons my hips against him, clearly trying to gain control by greedily seeking his own release. I don't care, I'm not far, and the thought of finishing myself while he watches only brings me closer.

He pumps several more times before a strangled expletive leaves his blue blood, prep school mouth. With his arm wrapped around my waist I move to finish myself off.

"Turn over," he again whispers in my ear. "Let me watch you spread out, touching yourself."

Since embarrassment is not part of our equation, I turn and face him, bending my knees up and spreading my legs.

"Tell me, Carlisle, does your wife do this for you. Fuck herself for you, in front of you?"

Any other time speaking those words, I would have crossed a line, but tonight I think we're both fucking away something untold. It's not revenge, or anger or vendetta, maybe it's just unwanted change.

"Does she, Carlisle, does she?" I continue my provocation while furiously stroking and circling. I'm there, "Fuck, does she?" My eyes close and the sounds come from the back of my throat. I tremor and twitch as my little death moves through me. Another wave passes before I reopen my eyes.

My stare is dark and his is the same. Somewhere tonight we've fallen down a rabbit hole.

"No, she doesn't," he responds intensely before moving to the bathroom to clean up.

I question if I did go too far and if sex makes you say ask questions you shouldn't.

"Do you want me to go?" I ask when he returns.

"It's 2:00 in the morning, you should stay here," he says pulling the duvet back in a silent invitation.

I take my phone out of my jeans which I have folded on the end of the bed. I set my alarm for work.

When I leave in the morning he doesn't wake, or at least doesn't move to get up. I'm completely fine with that, I have a lot of thinking to do.

I spend the next week trying not to think about that night. I don't think it's a big deal, but I don't want to see Dr. Cullen either.

I shouldn't have said anything about his wife. I did cross a line, he's still married to her despite her, _proclivities_.

But fuck if it wasn't hot too.

I'm so fucking wayward.

When I get home from school on Tuesday, a week and a half after Thanksgiving, I check my phone to find a message waiting for me. I don't immediately recognize the number.

"_Bella, hello, it's Esme Cullen,_" the message begins._ "when you are able, would you please give me a call? I'm back in Forks, you can reach me at this number or the landline_," she says, giving me that number.

Sometimes life is easier over the phone. I call her back.

"This is Esme Cullen," she answers, I hear what sounds like dishes in the background.

"Hi, Esme," she cuts me off.

"Lovely Bella," she lets out a deep breath. "I'm so glad you called me back. I hoping you can be of some help."

"Um, what?" That was about the last thing I would expect her to say, unless she wants me to clean their garage or weed the garden or put up the storm windows.

"We've had an addition to our family and I'm hopeful you can bring your youthful verve to our home."

I thought I was already bringing my _youthful verve_ to their home, or at least to Carlisle.

"Um, sure, I guess."

"Perfect, can you come tomorrow after school?"

"Uh, yeah, about 3:30?"

"That will work well, 3:30. I'll see you then, Bella."

She hangs up and I sit down to the kitchen table.

Did she say an addition to the family?

* * *

That was a jam packed chapter, if you made it through to the end, thank you. I've left a few clues about the addition in past chapters, let me know what you think or your theories.

The super duper Coco Marmalade has set up a Facebook page for Dirty Carlisle; seriously, I can't imagine why. In support, I try to post sporadic teaser bits and curb my ramblings about actors from the 1980's. Plus, she got the extremely multitalented Sleepyvalentina to make just about the coolest banner ever. I can't believe it myself. Check out my profile for the FB link (it's a closed group but inclusive,) and if you like Mad Men, the banner is doubly worth it.


	13. Chapter 13

Stephenie Meyer's Twilight, where it took four books, a kidnapping, an abandonment, a trip to Italy, a camping trip with a rumble, a wedding and a boat ride before there was any sexin'. Talk about building anticipation.

I've proofread this so any and all errors are mine alone, hopefully there are too many, my apologies if there are.

* * *

Chapter 13

"What is with you, you've been chewing on your thumb all day, it's disgusting."

For Emmett's Christmas gift, Rose is trying to quit smoking cigarettes. For a Christmas gift to the rest of us having to deal with Rose, I've been thinking about putting a nicotine patch on her ass to lessen our collective pains of her withdrawal.

"I have to go meet someone after school and I'm just nervous about it."

"What, like a college interview?" Rose asks, attacking a limp piece of celery,

"No, my boss's wife, Mrs. Cullen."

"Have you ever looked at Dr. Cullen?" Rose makes like she has chills running up her back and shoulders. "My mom and I saw him in PA the other day, fuck, he-is-hot," Rose says, going back to her baggie of raw vegetables.

I choke on my milk.

"What's your problem?" Rose asks, taking a piece of broccoli and dipping it into some hummus.

"Just, don't talk about him like that, I have to work in that office. Where's Emmett?" I'm desperate to change the topic.

"You don't think he's good looking? Emmett's in the library. It's hard to believe a 40 year old guy's chest can look so good in a polo shirt. I thought my mom was going to fall over herself."

"Thirty five," I say, looking around the cafe for Mike or Jessica or a pack of bison, maybe some space waste, anything to change the direction of this conversation.

"What's 35?"

Fat fucking mouth I have.

"Um, Dr. Cullen, he's 35," I try to briefly hold eye contact with Rose and not look like I'm carry a secret the size of the GNP of Bolivia.

"How do you know how old he is? Was he your secret lovah?" Rose teases while looking for something else in her lunch bag.

"Yeah, right," I mumble and internally vomit while I dig through my purse in a desperate search for a vial of hemlock.

Jess comes up and pulls a seat at our table.

"What're you guys talking about?" Jess asks taking her phone out of her pocket.

"I'm asking Bella why she knows how old Dr. Cullen is, she _corrected_ me on his age," Rose says, raising an eyebrow while a dangerous smile worms across her face. She bites into a carrot with exaggerated flourish.

"Ohmygawd, that guy makes my mom all sorts of wrong. We saw him at the Apple Fest the other month and my mom, get this, right in front of me, asked what type of technique he uses when performing pelvic exams. I about fucking died. But then I figured if I would have dropped dead, my mom would have asked Dr. Cullen for mouth to mouth resuscitation on her, so you know, for my dad's sake, I didn't step into the light."

"That's hilarious, but not nearly as bad as my mom. Last summer my mom and I were at the tennis courts when Dr. Cullen came by, I don't know where Mrs. Cullen was," Rose says and I stop myself from saying she was probably performing cunnilingus. "Anyway, my mom, I swear to Christ, looks at his crotch then asked him if he needed any help with his balls. That little incident was at the top of my FML list for about four months."

"Uh, no, I had to type up, you know, stuff for him, in the office, that's how I know how old he is." Of note, that was the least slick move, ever.

My awkwardness is not lost on Rose or Jessica, they both look at me wondering if there's some type of medication for me.

"Anyway, I'm glad my mom lives at the opposite corner of the country, she'd be the worst." I'm desperately trying to recover. "_Oh, doctor, I get these hot flashes, but only when you're around_," my voice falsetto. "_Dr. Cullen_," I flutter my eyelashes, "_Can you show me again how to examine my breasts?_" This is actually kind of fun. "_Dr. Cullen is that a stethoscope in your pants or are you just happy to see me?_" I flip my hair over my shoulders.

They both laugh and move the conversation on to the upcoming winter break. I want to send Carlisle a text telling him he's a trending topic in the school cafe, but it's too dangerous and he'd probably be like, _wtf do I care_?

After lunch, my classes fly by until it's after school and I'm standing in front of the mirror trying to make myself look refined. Or at least less disheveled.

My eyeliner is smudged, and not on purpose but passable, and my hair looks like it does every other day, which is not necessarily a good thing.

"Hey, Bella," Jessica says walking in and going to the sink next to me.

"Hey, Jess," I turn to look at her, cocking my head. Jessica always looks good, boobs notwithstanding. Her hair is shiny and smooth; lip gloss never chewed off and her clothes are always trendy and wrinkle-free.

"Jess, can you do something with my hair? I have to go to this thing and this," I wave around my head, "is just not working."

She looks at me and rubs her index finger over her cheekbone.

"I can braid it," she says after a few moments, nodding her head.

We go to the auditorium and I take a seat while she stands in the row behind me having pulled out a pointy comb and a brush.

"I don't think people realize how much goes into being a hair stylist or a colorist. It's equal parts imagination and creativity with science and math. Plus, how many times a day are stylists put on the spot? Like probably for every appointment," she says as she sections out my hair. The drag of the comb across my scalp and her talking distracts me enough to a point of bordering on relaxation.

"Women and men go sit into that chair and asks the stylist what they think would look good, or in style. Or they want to look fabulous for something. Plus stylists have to have people skills, who wants to sit in a chair for 45 minutes with a pouty person cutting your hair?"

"Is that what you want to do?"

"What? Hair? I don't know, maybe, my grandma does hair and wigs. But she's always worked for someone else. If I do it, I want to have some type of business degree too. Own my own place, my own vision, you know what I mean? It's kind of something I kick around at night when I can't sleep, you know?"

At night I touch myself and think about Carlisle touching me.

"Okay, let me have the elastic," she reaches her hand over my shoulder. "I think this is good. Stand up so I can see how it looks in front."

I stand and she appraises my hair and the rest of my appearance.

"Yeah, it looks good. You want any help with your makeup?"

"Uh, no, I thought I looked alright?"

"Here," Jess reaches into the outside pocket on her book bag and hands me some lip balm with color in it. "It's just a little bit of plummy red, should look good with your skin tone.

I put some on and hand it back to her. 'Thanks Jess, this was a huge help."

"No prob, I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah, 'bye." I leave and get into my truck. I pull the rearview mirror down and look at my hair as best I can, it looks nice enough. My lips don't look like I'm trying too hard and the rest of me looks like I always do. I smooth my hands over my sweater and drive over to the Cullen's house. I'm there at 3:28, which gives me two minutes to get my shit in order.

I run my palms back and forth over my thighs. My heart is beating too hard, and not in a good, excited way either.

Whatever. I can do this.

I get out and walk to their front door. There's a red berry wreath set inside a pine one, it's real and smells of good taste, cocktail hours and parties that provide coat rooms instead of your parents' bed. I reach and ring the doorbell.

I hear unhurried feet descend the stairs before the door is opened.

"Bella, how nice you're here on time," Esme says like I'm afflicted with chronic tardiness. "Please, come in," she steps back for me to enter. I'm thinking she's dying a little bit to have to open her home to me.

"You can hang your coat there, if you'd like. Can I get you anything to drink? I have coffee brewed."

"Mm, no, I'm fine, thank you."

"Have a seat in the living room," she gestures and comes back with a glass of water for me and a cup of coffee for her.

She settles herself in, gives me an automatic, closed mouth smile and turns her head for a moment before facing me.

"It's been an interesting couple of weeks," now she smiles almost genuinely.

"How is your sister," I shake my head, "cousin?"

"Char's better. Well, no, she's getting better. She has a little problem with," Esme drops her voice like the room is filled with Hedda Hoppers and mouths the word, _pills_.

"Oh," I fidget for something to do with my hands before leaning forward for the glass of water.

"I didn't know how bad it had become. She's always been a party girl," Esme is unfocused, her eyes brows raised in a moment to herself. "We would sneak cigarettes when we were 15 and thought we were the height of cosmopolitan, and the thing of it was that we were," she laughs dryly.

"Char has a daughter," Esme tells me while watching my reaction.

"Oh," I say and wonder where this conversation is heading.

"Yes, Alice. Precocious. It's unnerving, really." I watch as Esme's index finger rubs back and forth over the cuticle of her thumb. I know that gesture; it's nervousness, although on her it looks contemplative and thoughtful.

"Where is she now?" I ask slowly.

Esme returns her focus. "She's upstairs. I won't says she's a pitiful child, but she's not young at all with her big, doleful eyes, and perfect posture." Esme lets out one laugh. "She loves documentaries."

I furrow my brow and have a questioning smile on my face. "How old is she?" I'm thinking maybe she's 12 or something.

"Five. She told me in confidence that when she grows up she will marry Ken Burns." Alice's breached confidence notwithstanding, Esme now looks concerned. Concern is not something Esme carries well. "She's never had a sustained father figure." Her candor surprises me.

"She watched his baseball documentary last year and spent three months telling her mother she was 'out' or, 'safe' or if it was a 'homerun' or a 'balk'. Poor Char when Alice said she was a Yankee fan. We, of course, were all weaned on the Red Sox. They were living in New York until a few weeks ago," she says in some type explanation.

I laugh out of politeness, not following baseball enough to know if this is really all that funny.

Esme takes a sip of her coffee.

"How do you feel about children, Bella?"

The racing of my heart is back at the abruptness of such a personal question.

"I'm sorry, that was rude," my discomfort is not lost on Esme and I wonder if this was a test. "Let me back up," her tone is all business. "Char will be away for an indeterminate amount of time. She's left the country," Esme sighs, closes her eyes, and flaps her hand. "I disagreed, so of course I had to take Alice, which is fine. None of this is her fault," Esme says, surprising me with her quiet vehemence. "She's a sweet child once you can get past her," she pauses, waving her hand fluidly through the air, "eccentricities."

I sip my water and wonder where I come into all of this.

"Bella, I wanted Alice to attend school in Seattle, but for now, that won't be a possibility." She looks at me before continuing. "I'd like to arrange with you to babysit a couple of days a week, afterschool? Perhaps the occasional weekend night?"

I'm stunned and my response is less than composed. "Um, I," I trail off.

"I'm going about this poorly," she smiles condescendingly. "Why don't I introduce you to Alice, let you adjust to the idea and then decide from there? Why don't we try that?"

Esme's practically feeding me words probably due to the fact I'm acting completely dimwitted.

"Yeah, yeah, let's do that. Um, I'm sure…yeah, why don't I meet her," I halt and splutter.

"Good, I'm glad, let me invite her down. She's been watching Ken Burns' documentary on the Civil War, which is entirely inappropriate, but she completely pouts if I say 'no' and she hasn't had any nightmares, so," she waves her hand and tips her head to the side, "I just let her. My mother has told me to pick my battles."

Wise words coming from Esme's mom.

I sit and fidget while Esme's upstairs gathering Alice. When I hear them coming down the stairs I stand, smooth out my jeans, and step away from the couch.

"Bella, I'd like you to meet my niece, Miss Mary Alice Brandon. Alice, this is Bella Swan, she's a friend of," slight pause, "the family's." Well played Esme.

Esme gently moves Alice forward, whereupon, Alice daintily presents her hand for me to shake. I briefly look up to see amused delight sparkling from Esme's eyes.

The girl is tiny. Itty-bitty tiny. She looks fragile.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Alice says as she takes my hand and shakes it.

Standing before me is this young child with two long braids wrapped intricately around her head like a crown which leads me to believe she has never had a haircut. She looks like a miniature porcelain painting from the 1700s. Pale with slightly blue-cast skin. Her eyes are nearly grey, or maybe closer to murky. I can't tell if I'm fascinated or frightened by her. She looks like a Diane Arbus photograph; disarming and out of place in the world.

"Jathsper wants me to ask you if that's your natural hair color."

"Who's Jasper?" Alice has a slight lisp, and I'm wondering if I missed some part of the conversation.

"Jasper is a Major in the Confederate Army," Esme explains, then mouths the word, _imaginary_.

"Oh, where is Jasper stationed?" I play along.

"Texasth, near the border of Mexico."

"I see. I hope he's safe."

"I don't have the heart to tell him the Confederates lost," Alice definitively tells me.

"It looks like you just did," I question her. I'm pleasantly charmed by Alice's forthrightness.

"I didn't, he just returned to his post. He said there were possible insthurgents threatening to cross."

This girl is five. _Insurgents_, _the border of Mexico_, _The Civil War_?

"Alice recently met Jasper, he keeps an eye out for her and is terribly protective of her as well," Esme tells me, any trace of amusement, gone.

Alice has conjured herself an imaginary protector.

Esme and I are probably thinking along the same lines and we're slightly startled when Alice changes topics.

"Mathew Brady gets all the credit for photographing the War Between the States, but he had several men working for him who did most of the dangerous pictures. He wasn't the only one who took photos of it."

I feel educationally insufficient next to this girl.

"I have to admit, Alice, I'm unfamiliar with Mathew Brady," I respond truthfully.

I've said the wrong thing. Alice has her hands on her hips and her mouth set in a hard line. She lets out an exasperated sigh and turns to Esme.

"Aunt Esthme, have my thuitcathes been unpacked?" Alice asks, clearly bothered by my stupidity. She says aunt, like she's holding back part of her throat muscles. I say aunt like a bug.

"No, not entirely, why don't you and Bella go upstairs and put your books on your shelves," Esme looks to me in question and I nod my head. "The two of you can get to know one another and you can teach her about what it was like with the mobile darkrooms on the battlefields and being in harm's way."

I don't want to wonder how much Alice knows about being in harm's way.

"So, Alice, what do you like being called, Alice or Mary or Mary Alice?" I ask once we're upstairs and unzipping her tweed suitcase filled with books.

"Alice," she responds dismissively. This isn't going all that well.

"Okay, so," I drag out, "tell me about Jasper. Does he," I begin and decide my best bet is not to talk down to her. "What is the Major's last name?"

Alice turns to me and her dull eyes begin to gain light and interest.

"Whitlock. Major Jathsper Whitlock."

"I like that name, Jasper," I smile at her and move to lean against her bed. She doesn't join me, but sits a few feet away, close to her books. She has her knee propped up and crossed over her other thigh. It's one of those sitting positions that fade sometime after the age of six or seven.

"Oh, yes, it's a family name," she responds, nodding her head. "My name is a family name. My great grandmummy was named Mary Alice," she tells me and I notice she's scooted forward slightly.

"Oh yeah? That's neat, both of you have family names. So tell me, where did you and the Major meet?"

Alice again scoots a little closer. "We met at the H&H on the upper west side. It's closed now so Jathsper had to come live with me when he's not being a tholdier." She nods her head earnestly.

I don't know what an H&H is so I move on with my questions.

"Is he tall?"

"Oh yes, he's very tall, taller than Uncle Carlisle, but he has blond hair like Uncle Carlisle and blue eyes too. But they don't look anything alike." She shakes her head.

"Well, that's a good thing, you wouldn't want to call your uncle, Jasper and Jasper, your uncle," I say, smiling.

She giggles. "That would be thilly."

I try not to smile at Alice's lisp.

"Show me the rest of your room," I gesture with my chin. "Are you having fun here?" I ask when she stands up and moves to the shelves across from her.

"It's fun. It's not New York; the trees are the size of giants in Aunt Esthme's backyard. There's no park around but Uncle Carlisle says we can make a tire thwing."

"Tire swings are so much fun, you should make your Uncle Carlisle push you on it a hundred times each day," I smile at her.

"But what if Uncle Carlisle's arms get tired with all that swing pushing? Would the good Major be able to step up and lend a hand?"

Carlisle is standing in the doorway and he looks beautiful in a crisp white shirt and navy blue suit, his tie loosened and the top button undone. His eyes are glowing with a different kind of mischievousness, it's sweet and light and fun. He looks young and I suddenly wonder why he and Esme don't have any children of their own.

"Well," Alice takes a deep breath and sighs. "I've told you before, Uncle Carlisle, he's very busthy, he can't always be around."

Carlisle lets out a quick sigh and looks at me. I know we're both echoing Alice's words in out minds, _he can't always be around_. I look at Alice again and she's going through her suitcase and has pulled out, _The House on East 88__th__ Street_.

"Thank you Bella," he looks at me without any subtext. "Esme's downstairs if you'd like to speak with her." And he gives me a quick wink, dismissing me without_ dismissing me_.

"Goodbye, Alice, it was really nice to meet you, I totally enjoyed myself," I tell her as I move out the door.

"'Bye, Bella, I hope to see you again thoon," she smiles at me before turning to Carlisle.

"Uncle Carlisle, do you know anything about digging latrines?"

"No, Alice, not in the least," he responds aridly.

I laugh as I walk down to meet Esme, who's waiting for me at the landing.

"She's a captivating girl, isn't she?"

I think about Esme's questioning statement.

"She is captivating and I'm sorry she has," I shrug and let my words trail off not wanting to say something offensive. "You know, had kind of a rough go of it," I finish.

Esme responds with a wry smile.

"I try not to dwell on it. I feel if you dwell on someone's struggles or weaknesses then you diminish his or her worth or the expectations of that person. I believe Alice has too much potential to have to accept our pity."

I stare at Esme and absorb her words.

"Yes," I nod my head. I stop myself from delving any deeper into interpersonal relationships with Esme, I'm afraid of what I might unearth. We move into the breakfast room off the kitchen.

"Will you be accepting the position I've offered you, or would you like to take a day or two to think it over?"

"Well, I'm pretty busy right now with my job at Newton's and at Dr. Cullen's office, but I can come by Mondays and Tuesdays or Wednesdays. Weekend's will be difficult until after the holidays, and during exams, but uh, yeah, we can work something out, I'd like that."

"Aren't you a busy woman, it's a wonder you have any time for extra curricular activities." Her smile is not friendly.

"Esme, if you're going to throw my extra curricular activities in my face every opportunity you get, then this won't work." My returning smile is not friendly either.

"Meow."

"We've been through this. I didn't initiate this little triangle. I'll set it aside when I'm with Alice, it won't be any type of issue. If that doesn't work for you, then none of this will work." I purse my lips and shake my head minutely.

Holy shit, did I just say all that? Holy shit.

Esme is silent for several moments and doesn't move her eyes from mine.

"Let's say Monday and Tuesdays. If you need to cancel either of those days I would appreciate a 24-hour notice. I understand your time is valuable, please respect mine as well."

"Of course," I answer coolly even though inside I shaking and tense at what I just said a few moments earlier.

"Do you want me to start tomorrow?" I ask.

"No, I expect three references and a history of your employment. Let's negotiate your salary."

Salary?

"Um," I start before I'm cut off.

"Bella," she says sternly, "starting a negotiation off with, 'Um', doesn't serve your purpose well. It makes you sound weak. Let's start again, shall we?"

"Yes," I respond as confidently as I can. I square my shoulders, sit up straight and decide what I want and need.

"Your salary?"

"Esme, I think you will find, once you check my three references that I am an exemplary employee who takes her responsibilities very seriously, well beyond my 18 years of age. Besides holding down two part-time jobs and serving on many school activities and councils, I help my father manage our household by cooking, cleaning and shopping. The going rate for someone my age should match the grade I'm in, which is the 12th grade. I believe $12 an hour is fair."

Holy fuck, I'm Norma Rae.

Esme gives me a satisfied smile.

"Very good, I think that's fair." She extends her hand and I shake it. "My uncle's a lawyer for the Teamster's, have you ever thought about a career in the legal profession?"

If my sweaty pits and weak knees are any indication, then, no, not a profession in law.

"No, I don't think so, I'm still waiting to hear what schools I get into anyway."

"Don't take it off the table, it's a rush, isn't it? To get what you want?" Another knowing smile before she continues. "Once you supply your references, email will be acceptable, I'll check them out, I imagine everything will be fine so from there, you can start next Monday."

"Fair enough," I reply nodding my head.

As we're finishing up, Carlisle enters the kitchen.

"Carlisle, did you pick up milk?" Esme asks.

"No," he replies shortly and Esme sighs.

"Will you? We're out and Alice needs some with dinner." Esme's tone is as brusque as Carlisle's and I'm uncomfortable and want to leave immediately.

"Of course. Bella, I'll walk you to your truck," he says.

"Um, sure, as long as we're done here, Esme?"

"Yes. I'll be speaking to you later this week if anything changes. Thank you, Bella, I think this will work and I hope you and Alice will be special friends."

I smile. "Thanks again, Esme, I look forward to this."

She just raises her eyebrows to me and goes into the kitchen to pull something from the freezer. I turn around and Carlisle puts his hand on the small of my back and guides me out to the driveway.

"Thank you, Bella," Carlisle says when we're at the door of my truck.

I look into his eyes and wonder how I ever ended up in his bed. He's so smooth and so handsome. I know somewhere in my brain I should be reconsidering my whole place within the Cullen culture.

"Um, no, thank you," I tell him, "I'm looking forward to getting to know Alice."

He smiles softly and moves his hand to tuck my wind blown hair behind my ear. I stop myself from leaning into his touch. That would be entirely inappropriate given the current reason for my visit here this afternoon.

"I'll see you at work then on Thursday," he says as I turn to open the door to my vehicle.

"Yes, Thursday, I'll see you then." I start to back away but not before I watch him walk to the garage. His suit fits him so well.

I take a deep breath and go home to tell Charlie of my new job.

X

A couple days later I'm sitting in the lunchroom with Jessica and Angela waiting for Rose to meet us.

When Rose enters the cafe she looks like she wants to grab a freshman to chew up and spit out just for an outlet of release. When she gets to the table she scrapes her chair back and slams her book bag down bending over to unzip it harshly.

This is more than Rose quitting smoking. Jessica and Angela look like they're ready to fortify themselves under the table in fear of an outburst from Rose. I, on the other hand, am sick of this. I close my eyes and count to 10 before entering Rose's unpleasantness bubble.

"What's going on?"

"_What's going on_? _What's going on_?" Rose sneers. "I'll tell you what the fuck is going on, stupid fucking Emmett putting rolling around on the floor with near naked guys ahead of us being boyfriend and girlfriend. That's what's fucking going on."

Dealing with Rose lately is like trying to figure out if the yellow wire should be snipped or the cyan wire; the wrong move and everything could blow and leave us all as horrible disfigured piles of flesh.

"You know what Rose, I get you're stressed and you're pissed Emmett is busy, but this whole acting like a cunt is really getting tired. I love you, but right now you're making it really hard for me to remember that fact." It was a bitch move not to be more supportive, but she really has become intolerable. Calling me up to complain, not listening to anything anyone has to say, it was like talking in circles with a political pundit.

Rose sulks for a couple of moments. I have to give her a way to vent positively.

"Alright," I respond slowly and quietly. "What happened?"

"It's stupid," Rose sits down, deflating. She bends over again to get her lunch before straightening back up and trying to get herself under control.

"What's stupid?" I ask after she sets the knife down from cutting up her apple.

"He has an away meet this weekend and we were going to meet afterwards and have dinner and go to the movies. Wrestling season is so long and we've barely seen each other, you know?" She widens her eyes to let me know she is referring to sex.

"Now he tells me there's an informal team dinner after and he wants to reschedule our date. We haven't had a _date_ in forever. And he's acting like I'm not being supportive enough. I give up everything for him during the season and all I get is to be a convenient pussy to him when it fits into his schedule."

I glance over to Jessica and Angela. Jessica's attention is rapt while Angela looks like she wants to disappear, she's pulling at her braids and staring at her brown bagged lunch.

"Rose, I know you're stressed about Emmett and school and quitting smoking and stuff," I try to speak in a soothing voice. "Listen" I say excitedly coming up with an idea that might appeal to Rose. "What if we come up with something like a place of contentment? You know, like a series of thoughts to distract you when things get shitty and overwhelming?"

Rose is quiet for a few beats considering my offer.

"Yeah, I don't know," she responds without sounding convinced of anything. She fingers a slice of her apple.

"Okay, how about this, I'm gonna draw you a verbal picture, and see if that makes you, I don't know, relax, maybe?" I'm suddenly speaking like I know dick about chakras, crystals and chanting.

"Fine, whatever, give it a shot," she concedes.

I look around the lunchroom and try to think up something that would make Rose calm and happy, and less like a cunty snapping bitch.

I take a deep breath and start to speak in an even tone. I feel like a hostage negotiator or something.

"Close your eyes and picture what I'm saying," I instruct. "Think about Emmett–" Rose snorts. "No seriously, don't think about the things he does, just think about Emmett. Picture his beautiful eyes, and the light that fills them when he sees you first thing in the morning. You're hair all mussed from him running his fingers through it while you fell asleep." When Rose told me that's what Emmett does, I felt all tender and in love with him too. "And think about how whenever you get a good grade or find out some exciting news, he picks you up and spins you around because you're the only thing in his orbit."

She softens slightly. "That's true, he does do that," she pouts out her bottom lip.

"Or when you're talking to someone and he just comes up behind you and wraps his big, strong arms around your waist, kisses the side of you cheek not caring how many people see how in love he is with you."

I hear Jessica and Angela sigh quietly.

"And all the deliciously dirty stuff you two do together. How he likes to undress you, lay you down on any practically any surface, and spread you wide. Worshipping you, starting at your ankles, licking you, kissing you, and trailing soft caresses over you, until he gets to your promised land. The way his tongue teases you and tastes you, and how he slips a finger inside of you and takes his tongue to circle your hard clit in nothing more than his desire to please only you." Rose has given me very descriptive detail of Emmett's love of her vag.

"Mmm," Rose nearly moans. I glance over at Jessica and Angela and they both have their eyes closed.

"Go on," Angela whispers.

"Yeah, don't stop," Jess adds.

In hindsight, I probably should have done this outside of an audience and not in the middle of lunch in the cafe. I look around to see my three tablemates open their eyes and look anywhere but at each other.

We're saved when Emmett bounces up to our table.

"What's up lovely ladies?" Emmett asks while bending down to kiss Rose by her ear. I think he might have whispered something dirty to her by the way Rose nearly titters.

"Emmett, I need to show you something," Rose says hurriedly, grabbing her bag, leaving her apple and pulling Emmett behind her.

"I forgot I gotta go meet Mike in the room, over there," Jess says in her twitchy way, gathering her things and leaving.

"Yeah, me too, I have to ask Ben about some, um, biology homework," Angela explains as she pushes back from the table.

We took Biology sophomore year, she was in my class.

"That was really vivid, Bella," Angela says in her meek sort of way. She gives me a little wave before nearly pushing a small, blond kid out of her way towards the exit.

I'm left at the table alone and pick up a bite of Rose's forgotten apple.

x

On my work break on Saturday Rose calls me.

"What are you doing tonight?"

"Nothing, what's up?"

"Since Emmett's busy, let's go to the movies in Port Angeles. We can get dinner, it'll be our girl date. I might even let you kiss me at the end of the night," Rose makes kissing sounds.

"Only if I can cop a feel of your tits," I tease and it's just then that Mike walks into the back room where I'm sitting.

"Can I come?" Mike asks.

"No, shut up, I'm on the phone with Rose," I say winking at him.

"Damn, a titty feel between you two would be so hot."

"What the fuck is he saying?" Rose asks, I can tell she's smiling on the other end enjoying the thought of tormenting Mike.

"He wants to watch me feel you up, baby," I add and lick my lips for Mike's benefit.

"You two are evil," Mike says throwing a napkin in my direction.

"Yeah, but it makes you hot, right?"

"Whatever. What are you guys doing tonight?"

"Going to the movies in PA."

"Oh, well be careful, there's supposed to be a freeze tonight."

"Yeah, we will, thanks Mike," I tell him and finish up on the phone with Rose telling her to meet me after work so we can go straight there.

Driving to Port Angeles, the weather's fine. Rose and I have dinner and check out a girly movie that Emmett would never go see with Rose.

"Why don't we do this more often?" Rose asks when we are driving back.

"'Cause you have a boyfriend. Regardless that I'm friends with both of you, I'm still a third wheel when it's just us hanging out."

"That sucks."

"It's the way of coupledoms," I shrug keeping my eyes on the road. It's slick and the temperature has dropped. If it weren't for the sturdiness and weight of my truck, this would be difficult to drive.

"So what's up with that guy who you gave your number to at Ben's party?"

"James? Nothing really, we've talked a couple of times, we just haven't been able to work out a chance to see each other."

We had talked twice. Once when I was at work at Dr. Cullen's office where I had to cut him off since personal calls are not tolerated. And once when I was making dinner for Charlie. Both times were rushed and not very interesting.

"Do you like him?"

"I don't know, I barely even know him, I haven't really formed an opinion of him yet."

"You should try. Maybe do something during the week if weekends are so hectic. Something afterschool."

I glance over at Rose and she's leaning against the door looking at me.

"What?" I ask her.

"I just don't want you to waste your senior year."

The truck's silent for a few minutes while I navigate the curves of the dark highway.

"I'm not wasting my senior year, I'm trying to get into school and be able to pay for it."

"Yeah, I get that, but you don't want to get to college and just go insane. Fucking every guy you come across just to make up for not doing that stuff this year. You're not stuck on Jake, are you?" She suddenly asks with palpable trepidation in her voice.

"Why are you asking me that? And no, I'm not."

She sighs audibly.

"You've heard, haven't you?"

"About Jake? Yeah, I was actually there in the doctor's office when they were there. His girlfriend was talking to Dr. Cullen about it in the hallway, he kept trying to get her to shut up and go into his office." I let out a single laugh.

"God, what a nightmare."

"Uh, yeah," I agree. "Dr. Cullen brought me into his office to get me under control." I think about the way he put his finger under my chin and told me I was okay. I bite my bottom lip and drag my teeth back wondering what Carlisle is doing right now.

"Shit," Rose says slowly.

"What," I ask looking around on the road for something bad.

"You like Dr. Cullen."

"What? What're you talking about? I don't like him." I smile nervously and shake my head.

"God, you were so weird the other day at lunch and now, all biting your lip and telling me he took you into his office. Fuck, you totally have a crush on him." She says emphatically.

I keep my eyes on the road and try not to tighten my grip on the steering wheel.

"Shut up, I don't like him or have a crush on him. He's so old." I'm scrunching my toes in my boots as a nervous reaction.

"Oh, okay," Rose responds clearly not believing me.

We're close to the Cullens' house, approaching the town's edge.

"Whatever," I say like I'm not bothered by her hypothesis. I look over at her and she returns my gaze with raised eyebrows before looking back to the road. I do the same.

"Slow down!" Rose says. We both see the car in the ravine at the same time.

"Fuck," I say as I slow down and pull over to the side of the road.

"Stay in the car," I tell Rose as I pull out my phone. "Rose, call my dad and tell him where we are. Um, the Cullens live right around here, I'll call Dr. Cullen, he'll probably be faster than the paramedics.

Rose spares me any _I knew it looks,_ and asks for the station's number.

"Just hit 911, we should be close enough to get their switchboard." In the country, most times you got the state troopers emergency line. "After that call the station anyway so my dad knows we're okay." I tell her my dad's direct dial and go into my contacts for Dr. Cullen's number.

He answers almost straight away.

"Dr. Cullen, hi, this is Isabella Swan. Listen, we're right by your driveway on the 101 and someone's driven off the road and is stuck in the ravine. No one looks like they're moving. We're calling my dad but I thought if you were home you'd be here quicker." I say all this in a rush, my hand shaking and my eyes darting back to the woods and the car's taillights.

"Stay in your car, I'll be there in three minutes." I end the call and breathe deeply.

"Mr. Swan, we're okay. Yeah, I called 911. Isabella just got off the phone with Dr. Cullen, he lives nearby, he's going to check out the passenger, I don't know if there's more than one person in the car. Here, you want to talk to her? Yeah, we're not getting out of the car, we'll wait until someone gets here. Thanks."

Rose lets out a deep breath herself and we sit in silence for the next couple of minutes until there's a knock on my window. We both jump before I open the door and get out to see Carlisle's gaze travel over my form. He reaches forward and puts his finger under my chin and tips my head up to meet his eyes.

"You're okay?" He asks solemnly.

"Yeah, I'm fine. The accident is right over here, we just came up on it coming back from the movies." We turn and nearly bump into Rose. She moves and the three of us walk over to the ravine. Dr. Cullen works his way down the slope and looks in the car.

"Bella, go in the back of my truck and pull out the neck brace in the back seat. We'll wait for the paramedics to come with the board."

I retrieve what he needs and come back to see the person is talking. I don't know who it is; it's an older man in an old pickup truck before there were things like airbags and shoulder straps. He has lump forming on his forehead and I look down to see a can of beer.

Fuck.

"That deer came out and my truck's tires are bald, I slipped on some black ice."

Rose has also seen the can of beer on the floor of the truck and walks over to me and takes my hand.

"Shit, can you imagine if we had been here a couple of minutes earlier?" She wraps her hand around my waist as we lean against my truck. Carlisle talks to the guy, and holds an icepack over the man's lump. We here the sirens approach a few minutes later.

"Baby," Charlie says slamming the car door shut while the EMTs pull up right behind him. He briefly wraps me in a hug before pulling away. "Rosalie, you're okay?"

"We're fine, Chief," Rose responds, "Bella is a very safe driver. Quick thinking," she smiles sincerely.

"Right, alright then," Charlie says absently before walking purposefully over to the accident.

"That doesn't happen very often."

"What doesn't?" I ask.

"I'm not used to being a guy's afterthought."

"That's my dad," I say emphatically.

"Dr. Cullen's not your dad. I saw the way he looked at you," she whispers.

"I work in his office and just took a job babysitting for his niece, he knows me more than he knows you."

"He didn't even look at me," she shrugs like she can't be bothered with any other stories because what she's saying is the truth. "He didn't put a finger under my chin and pull my head up."

"Give it a rest Rose, you're making something out of nothing."

"Yeah, if you say so."

I know she doesn't believe me.

* * *

So, you think Bella's going to be able to keep Rose from figuring it all out? Let me know your thoughts.

Ms. Cuppy started a Facebook group for Dirty Carlisle, I try to post teasers on there, we've had some fun banter, take a look at my profile if you're interested. There's also a great banner Sleepyvalentina made for Dirty Carlisle that's posted there too!


	14. Chapter 14

Stephenie Meyer's Twilight, where I'm confused how Alice was able to see Bella's future, and Jasper was able to read / affect her moods. If Edward or the Volturi couldn't affect her any other way, how did their abilities work?

Brief summary of the prior chapter: Alice joins the Cullen family as Esme's 5 year old niece and Esme asks Bella to babysit afterschool. Rose inadvertently finds out about Bella and Carlisle after an accident on the highway.

Please check out the author note at the end of the story. All errors are me.

* * *

Chapter 14

"Did you hear?" Rose stops me in the hall.

"About that guy?" Rose nods her head in confirmation.

"Yeah, I did," I say with the solemnity the situation provided. "Charlie left in the middle of the night to go to the accident. He didn't get home until I was leaving for school this morning."

"What're you two talking about?" Emmett asks, walking up behind Rose and resting his arm across her shoulder.

"That accident Bella and I came up to on Saturday. The same guy skidded out on some ice, drunk, and his car went across the road and into the ravine." I paused a moment trying not to picture the gruesome scene in my mind. "He wasn't wearing a seatbelt and went through the windshield and died."

"Fuck," Emmett says quietly.

"Yeah, he got out of the hospital Saturday after our run in with him, was taken to jail and spent the night there, got his bail posted and apparently went out drinking and," I trail off shaking my head.

It's not the first time someone has died on that part of the highway. There's usually a fatality every couple of years. Between the slick roads, hunting season, and cheap beer, it becomes the perfect combination of dangerous. The fact that Rose and I saw the predecessor accident on Saturday adds a sobering air to this particular fatality.

"My dad is really freaked out," I tell them. "He's all like, 'Bells, I don't want you driving after dark.'" I don't know why I shared this, but seeing Charlie walk in this morning looking grey and worn and older than his 40 years frightened me. Despite the fact that we live in a small town with a relatively low crime rate, my father and the five other officers shoulder the fulltime burden as first responders. Maybe the fact that we're such a small community and events like this are somewhat rare takes away the opportunity for desensitization.

"Not being allowed to go out after dark may limit your activities, huh?" Rose says to me, her eyes bright with challenge and her mouth twisting in dare.

"Yeah, like I have to worry about limiting my after dark activities," I try to jokingly deflect Rose's suspicions. She so knows about Carlisle, I might as well send an announcement card to the fact. But still, I play the clueless shut-in.

We walk Rose to her class before Emmett and I make it to History.

"Hey," Emmett says, flicking the back of my head like he does. It shakes me from the melancholy and tension of moments ago.

"What?" I snap and turn around but then Emmett winks at me, I go all soft and squishy at seeing his dimples. Emmett has a way of charming the piss and vinegar out of anyone.

"What're you doing after school? I need help picking out some stuff for Rose for Christmas."

"I thought you two weren't doing gifts."

"We aren't, we're making stuff." He makes a face like he's annoyed, but I know it was probably his idea. "I'm trying to put stuff into a," he lowers his voice, looking around us to see is anyone's listening, "photo album. You know, things we've done together so we have something for when we're not together." He looks down at his desk and fiddles with a scrap of paper.

Rose must have been an untouchable or a martyr or something of the like in a past life because she's totally been rewarded with Emmett in this life.

"Sorry, tiger, no can do, I start my babysitting job today."

"Oh yeah, for lispy girl, how's that gonna go?"

"Don't make fun," I chide. "I don't know how it's gonna go, it should be alright, I guess. She has an imaginary friend, I'm hoping he joins us today and takes the pressure off of me. I'm not really sure what to do with her."

Our teacher comes in to begin our lecture so I turn around and open my notebook. I feel Emmett's meaty finger poking me in the neck and put my hand there to swat him away when he shoves a note between my fingers. I grasp it in my palm and bring it forward and unfold it.

-_Read her _Eloise_, girls love that shit, she'll want to live at the Plaza in New York. Rose said it was her favorite book when she was little._

I wonder if Esme would have any qualms if I brought Emmett with me for backup. If for nothing else, he could help Jathsper secure the Texas / Mexico border.

x

Pulling down the drive to the Cullen house I see a pair of pink rain boots sitting on the porch along with a pink umbrella. Walking up I notice the boots are covered with sloppy mud and I try very hard to imagine pearl-clad Esme Cullen walking anywhere where there would be mud. But then again, it's only Alice's boots out here, not Esme's.

I knock on the door and it swings open just seconds later.

"Bella," Esme greets, moving back for me to enter.

I had emailed her my three requested references the day after her request. She checked each of them as Mrs. Newton was all up in my business for me to tell her about Esme Cullen.

Yeah, like I was going to fuel the mill with the grist of Esme Cullen's private life.

"Hi Esme, how's it going?"

"Well, Alice had her first day of school, today. When she left here this morning she had on pretty pink tights, her pink rain boots and a pink slicker. She looked like a wad of bubble gum. When she got home she had mud on nearly anything that was pink and told me she didn't like the color. Apparently, too many girls in her class already wear pink." Esme's amusement is obvious and I can't help but to turn the corners of my mouth and smile along with her.

"I wonder what color she would like better?"

"After I told her confederate blue might be difficult to match and difficult to rationalize, being that we're _Yankees_, she went with her second choice of purple, lilac to be more specific."

"I guess she's put a lot of thought into this?" I ask, smiling.

"It would seem. Gives me hope the 25 minute bus ride is good for something."

Esme is different today. She seems purposeful and I feel less on edge around her. If I were to really stretch it, I might go so far as to say she was being friendly.

"Alice is changing. I have a schedule outlined for you in the breakfast room."

I follow Esme and sit down across from her. She moves a typed piece of paper over to me and I read what she has written.

1.) Change into play clothes when she arrives home from school

2.) Ask her what she did during her time at school while making her a small snack of fruit or vegetables along with a glass of water with a lemon in it. She may have some cheese if she's extra hungry.

3.) Ask about her friends. Please monitor how often she speaks of Jasper.

4.) Count with her and notice her progress. _Sixes_ and _sevens_ can be particularly difficult for her. Be patient.

*_We will eat dinner by 6:30, whether Carlisle is home or not. The latest you will be here will be 6:30. But expect most days you should be able leave by 6PM._

After I finish reading Esme's outline of activities, I set it down and look at her expectant face.

"Is there a journal or diary or something you want me to keep about Alice's progress?"

Esme looks thoughtful for a moment and considers my question.

"No, I don't think that will be necessary. I'll be here most of the time; if I step out we can discuss things when I return. Which reminds me," she gets up and goes to a drawer in the kitchen. She returns and hands me a key.

"This is a key to the front door. I don't imagine you will need it, but if something comes up, we'll be prepared." She places the key on the table and pushes it towards me.

"It only is the key to the front door," she adds looking at me pointedly.

I ignore the implication that I would start letting myself into Carlisle's cottage. "I agree, I think this is a safe bet." I get up and go to the closet and reach into my coat pocket, take my key ring and add the Cullen's front door key to it.

"Hi, Bella,"

Alice greets me while I shut the closet door.

"Hi, Alice, how are you? How was school?"

"Fine."

I put my hand on her upper back and lead her to the kitchen.

"Would you like a snack?"

"Okay.

"Bella, there're pears in the refrigerator," Esme says as she makes her way out of the breakfast room.

Alice drags a newly added stool to the counter next to the sink and watches as I wash her pear.

"Do you want skins, or no?" I ask her.

"The thskins are where all the vitaminths are," she informs me.

"Good, I like them that way too." I sliced a pear for her and one for me and pull another stool next to her. Between bites I ask her about her day.

"Is Mrs. Posey your teacher?" I knew Mrs. Posey and her husband from Newton's. They brew their own beer during the winter and buy their supplies from the store. I don't share this with Alice.

"Yesth, she told me my braids were pretty."

"She's right, your braids are pretty. Do you like them?"

She shrugs her shoulder, intent on the piece of fruit. "I'm going with Aunt Esthme on Thaturday to Theattle and we're going to the beauty thalon."

"The beauty salon?" I say in mock-startle. "Alice, you're already beautiful enough, what in the world could a beauty salon do for you?" I dramatically put a hand to my chest at the horror of it all.

"Well," her eyes move up to the list of activities in her brain. "We're going to have our fingernails and our toenails painted and Aunt Esthme is going to get her hair cut and I might too." She was totally excited at the prospect. "Maybe you can ask my aunt if you can come, too."

"She could if she would like, but I believe she has Uncle Carlisle's office holiday party this weekend, don't you Bella?" Esme asks as she walks in and turns to me.

I had been trying to think of an excuse not to go to that thing. Last year I got out of it saying I had Christmas plans with Jake. I couldn't back out of it again.

"Yeah, I guess I'm going." I could think of little else that would be as unpleasant as this office party. It must have been apparent on my face, Esme laughs.

"I'm afraid, lovely Bella, you'll have to be a designated driver, they all drink like fish at that little event."

"Did you go last year?"

"Yes, yes I did. The bowling alley was quite decorated for the holidays." She choked a little at that statement. I wanted to remind her that no one in Forks ordered from the Neiman Marcus Christmas catalog and went ice skating at Rockefeller Center. A decorated bowling alley was the way we lived.

"Karaoke was its own special kind of," she stops herself and looks at Alice before looking back at me and mouthing, "hell."

The mental image alone of Esme sticking her fingers in an off-the-rack bowling ball and wearing community-bowling shoes made me sorry I missed it last year.

"Do you bowl, Bella?"

I picked up on Esme's derision to the sport, but the fact of the matter was I didn't suck at bowling. Charlie had belonged to a league when he was a deputy and every Friday night I would go with him to Port Angeles and do my homework or play video games while he played. When his game ended we would rent the lane for another game and bowl together. He tried teaching me the finer points about arm swing and angle but I didn't really care about any of the stuff, I just liked spending the time with my dad and not having to share him with the community.

"Um, I've bowled, not as a regular thing, but my dad and I used to go together."

"Mmm, that's nice," she said for lack of anything else to say. "My father and I golf together," Esme tells me. The pride is more than apparent. "He's a scratch golfer, an utter dream to be with on a course." Clearly, Esme is a daddy's little girl.

"My daddy's a thsipping magnet in Greece," Alice chimes in.

"Shipping magnate, lovey." Esme looks at me and tightly shakes her head indicating that is not what her father is.

The three of us spend the afternoon together. We had decided to paint Alice's boots and her slicker with lilacs. Esme took out a fishing tackle box that held an array of acrylic paint tubes and after cleaning the mud from the boots, we each took a turn painting and decorating.

Tuesday when I get to the Cullen house, Alice is outside playing, when she comes in, she carefully pulls her boots off and sets them on the tray.

"Alice, your boots look great," I tell her.

Her face warms at my compliment and she takes a moment to look over my appearance. Her nose wrinkles up like she smells something foul.

"Jathsper wants to know why you're wearing those shoes."

And here I thought Jasper and I could be imaginary friends, imaginary cohorts even. Yet, while he pages through his imaginary Women's Wear Daily he gets his corporal friend to insult me. I feel betrayed.

"Um, I like them." I stop myself from saying it as a question and reminding myself she's five and isn't Esme Cullen.

"Oh," is her entire response. "Can we have apples and cheesthe today?" She asks as she walks to the kitchen leaving me standing in a puddle of shoe insecurity. Or pissed off at Jathsper, I'm not certain which.

x

Walking into work at Dr. Cullen's office on Thursday I'm cornered by Siobhan.

"Bella, I'm going to put you down as a designated driver for the party Saturday night."

Dr. Cullen walks up behind Siobhan and looks at me with the kind of smile that causes the secrets of nations to fall into the wrong hands. It's pure danger and it makes me forget there's an Esme.

"Um," I say distractedly, looking away from Carlisle and back to Siobhan. "What?" So fucking slick.

"Since you're 18 and don't drink," Siobhan looks up at me in confirmation, I nod, "I thought you wouldn't mind pitching in being a driver."

"Oh," I respond, eyes darting from Dr. Cullen to our office manager.

"Bella, why don't you pick me up then you can drive my sedan that way we'll be able to pick up three other people. Siobhan, we could pick you up along the way, and then stop for Fred and Sasha."

"Oh, that'll work perfectly; it'll be almost a straight shot for Bella."

"Good," he says then turns back to Siobhan. "So we have three designated drivers, we should be good."

"Wonderful Doctor, oh Bella, you'll have so much fun, bring your jingle bells," she trills as she takes her clipboard back to the front of the office. Dr. Cullen turns and walks to an exam room.

"Uh, yeah I could drive," I say to no one since I'm standing here alone. That was a classic case of being bamboozled.

x

"Dad?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"Um, I have to go to this work thing on Saturday night. I've been asked to be the designated driver, so, uh, I might be home late."

Charlie sets his fork down and takes the napkin from his lap to wipe his mouth.

"How late is late?"

"I don't know. Dr. Cullen rented the bar at the bowling alley in Port Angeles for the night. I don't know if I'll be home at 11:00 or at 2:00 in the morning."

"And you'll be driving people home so they don't get behind the wheel," Charlie said to himself. "Whose car will you be driving? Your truck?"

I sigh. "No. Dr. Cullen said I could drive his car."

"You're going to drive something you've never driven before?" Charlie was displeased.

I could see the rock and the hard place Charlie was stuck between. Just a few days before he had been at the accident site of a death on the same highway I would be traveling on. An accident and a death that was caused by alcohol. He didn't want several people on the road with questionable sobriety, nor did he want me driving after dark beyond what was absolutely necessary.

"I don't like this Bella. It's at least an hour to PA, it's dark and you'll be driving a car you're unfamiliar with, which will be filled with people who'll be compromised. I don't like it at all."

"I know Dad, I kind of didn't have a choice, it just sort of happened at work today. But," I pause briefly, "you know I'm a safe driver."

"I know you're a safe drive, it's the other yahoos I worry about."

I stay silent letting Charlie work through it.

"I'll be working, but you call me if there're any problems, if you're too tired to drive, if someone's too drunk to handle, you call me."

"I will, Dad."

Charlie went back to finishing his meal.

x

"Hey, Emmett and I are going skating on Sunday night at the rec center; you want to come with us?" Rose asks as we walk from the parking lot to the school entrance.

"Yeah, maybe, I have this work thing to go to on Friday and work the rest of the weekend, I don't know if I'll be up for it."

"What party?" Rose asks. I don't meet her eyes, just keep walking and looking forward. I had been somewhat successful this week avoiding any inquiry from Rose regarding Carlisle. I didn't like avoiding my best friend, in fact, I felt like a total heel because of it.

"It's this stupid office thing. I have to be the designated driver and drive all over picking up people like a hockey mom. I don't even want to go to this party. My dad's freaking out because of that accident and it's just a hassle more than anything else." I continued to look forward and hope the lack of excitement for this event is enough to stop Rose from any questions.

"What are people going to do, sit in the bed of your truck? That makes no sense."

"No, I have to drive someone else's car. This was all decided without any input by me."

"Whose car?" Rose continues to pick away at me.

"Doctor Cullen's," I reply, trying not to hesitate.

Rose takes my forearm and pulls me over to the picnic tables, which are too wet to sit on so instead, she pulls me to the woods. We're going to miss the first bell seeing as though it's in five minutes and it takes that long to get to the forest edging the outer field. I keep my mouth shut knowing this is unavoidable.

We get under the cover of the branches and I wait. I can't even look Rose in the eyes.

"That Saturday morning the other month when you came home after you broke up with Jake, you were with Dr. Cullen?" it's barely a question the way she asks it.

I swallow thickly and wish the earth would also swallow me up. "Rose, don't do this."

"Don't do what, talk to my best friend about the biggest secret ever? What the fuck?" Her anger is present in the fact that her words are emphasized and staccato.

"Please, don't do this," I say again and finally look her in the eyes.

She remains silent while she keeps her gaze on me. I try to still my twitchy movements.

"He's married, Bella," she quietly says.

I don't say anything. This is the inherent problem with secrets, it's never just one. If I were to be upfront with Rose about Carlisle and say anything about Carlisle and Esme's marriage, I would be telling the secrets of others, and what's worse is I would just be doing it to cover my own ass. While I hold no particular affinity towards Esme, I still wouldn't betray her private life in a thinly veiled attempt to rationalize my actions.

I lick my lips nervously.

"You're not going to say anything?"

"What should I say, Rose?" I'm getting tired of this conversation.

"What if his wife finds out? This is a small town, Bella, nothing stays secret." Then she adds, "Your dad would be completely devastated."

"Sometimes there are things that are just my business," I say flatly even though my statement is not really applicable to Rose's.

"Really? I saw the way he looked at you at the crash; his finger under your chin," she pauses, raising her eyebrows, "looking into your eyes. That wasn't some casual way a boss asks an employee about her wellbeing."

Again, I keep silent. Thoughts of my father finding out and the devastation that would incur keep me even further from wanting this conversation to continue.

"Jesus, Bella, you're just going to stand there and not say a word and think I won't care about this. Getting laid by some hot, older guy isn't worth all this. There are more than just you involved."

Everything she's saying is of course, correct. I can rationalize that all of this was at Esme's cunning; some way to have her husband's needs filled without the threat of him falling in love with the other woman and leaving her.

"Rose, can you just be my friend here, trust that the only person that's going to get hurt is me?" That was as close an admission as I would come; I stop myself from saying anything else.

"There are so many things wrong with that statement and you don't even get it." Her words are filled with as much insult as I've ever heard her direct towards me.

"I get it, Rose," I tamp my defensive anger down at her condescension. "We don't all get the perfect boyfriends like Emmett."

"Don't give me a bullshit line like that," her reply shoots immediately back at me. "You're not a victim, you're just feeling sorry for yourself in order to have a reason to be fucking a married man. If you're going to do it, at least have the balls to own up to it."

"If I own up to it, will you let it be? Make certain that this conversation never leave these woods? Not tell Emmett, or Jessica or Angela or anyone? Can you promise me this?" I look at her with blatant challenge knowing she can't answer in the affirmative. "Do you get why people keep things to themselves? Whatever's said right here, between us is only between us. Forever. Do you get that? Can you try to see something from my point of view other than just from a common objection?" My words are solid and direct.

Gentle rain falls on the forest canopy covering us.

"Sometimes it's just nice to know that someone would want someone else without the entanglement of emotions." The moment that statement leaves my mouth, I feel empty and cheap. Do I value myself that little? Or is it possible to have only a physical relationship without truly developing any feelings beyond desire?

The rain continues to fall and weight the leaves. Rose bends over to her bag and takes about a minute looking for a stick of gum. She offers me a piece but I shake my head.

"You know I want to ask you a million questions."

"We're missing first period," I say. Avoidance, I am thee.

"Speaking of missing periods, you haven't, have you?"

"I have a quiz in French I need to study for."

"Yeah and how is the frenching? Do older guys still kiss, or is it all wham, bam, thank you ma'am?"

"Come on, I can't blow off any more classes." I blithely continue on.

"Have you blown him? Tell me, he's so confident, he must pack a piece in his pants."

"Can we put this behind us?" I ask, knowing she won't because it lightens the gravity of the past ten minutes.

"He takes you from behind? Damn, he's all sorts of a dirty boy," she emphasizes each word and winks at me.

This continues all the way back to school.

After my second period I send Rose a text.

**-Rose, I love you bunches**

**-Ily2**

I laugh and send her one more text.

**-Bitch, say it properly.**

x

We close the office at 5:00 on Friday afternoon in preparation for the party. Siobhan lets me out at 4:30 so I have enough time to go home, change and start all of my driving. Charlie left me a note reminding me to call him if I need help.

I'm told the party is casual, which makes sense; it is in a bowling alley after all. Knowing it's casual doesn't make it any easier to pick out something to wear. Finally I decide on a pair of slim black velvet jeans my mom sent me for Christmas last year, they still have the tags on them. I take a silky tank top and a little cardigan Rose found for me at a garage sale, it's kelly green with dark, chunky sequins along the placket and set the clothes on my bed.

Taking a quick shower and hoping my hair dries in a non-hideous way is the best I'm going for. A swipe of lip gloss and mascara is the extent of my makeup. I get dressed and look in the mirror. I look festive. I feel less so.

I want to call Rose and ask her if she'll meet up with me at the party, but I know I can't. I have obligations to drive and didn't RSVP with a plus one. Navigating a social situation without my best friend makes this night all the less inviting.

"Dad," my father answers on the first ring; he's at the station. "I'm leaving to go pick every one up, I'll call you if I run into any trouble," I assure him.

"Alright Bells. Listen to me," he pauses with his serious tone. "I don't want any funny business. If any one offers you alcohol, you say no, you understand me?"

"Dad, I don't drink," I tell him, closing my eyes almost wishing I hadn't called him.

"I checked with the county, rain's supposed to come but not until later, there's no freezing weather predicted. Before you get on the road, you make certain you're comfortable with Dr. Cullen's car, I want you to have your wits about you."

"I know, Dad." I tell myself he does this out of love, not ass busting.

"I trust you to be careful."

"You know I will, Dad."

"Have a good time," he tells me and we hang up.

I pull down the Cullen drive and see as the porch light flips on. I shut off my truck's engine and slide out the driver's side door.

Carlisle opens the door when I reach the top step. He looks like the private school boy caught smoking in the boys' room. The worn and faded jeans, slightly scruffy black loafers and black v-neck sweater over a white t-shirt. It's completely mundane and I've seen him look this way before, and yet it still makes my mouth go dry.

"Hi," I say shyly. I can't stop the images of running my hands up underneath his snug black sweater and what my fingers would feel running along his chest. It's a little game I play in my mind where I try to imagine the physical point that would break his detached demeanor.

"Isabella," he says slowly while he looks me in the eyes then down to my lips before returning to my eyes again. He pays my outfit no mind.

I feel like a fawn in the woods, gangly and trepidatious. I don't know why I feel this way. I want to ask him why the brief and seemingly genuine concern for me at the accident site but I stop myself. This has never been about love, it's about desire and a need for physical satisfaction in an otherwise unfulfilled environment. And yet I cannot stop staring at him with more than carnal longing.

I quietly clear my throat and break the contact by moving my gaze to the side of the porch.

"Um," I try to marshal my thoughts to my responsibility of the evening. "Would you familiarize me with your car?" I ask, looking back at him.

A beat later, he responds. "Of course," he says, returning to indifferent decorum. He steps into the house and takes his coat, slipping his arms through the sleeves of a leather jacket. Normally I would have been embarrassed for him sporting anything leather, but this? This was dangerous beauty. Steve McQueen meets Sid Vicious with a big man hug from Ralph Lauren. I want to hand him a silver flask to go with his silver spoon and take him to Griffith Observatory. I swallow again.

He walks to me and puts his hand on the small of my back and leads me to the garage where he opens the door and hands me the key fob to a car that probably costs more than my father makes in two and a half years.

He couldn't just drive like a minivan or a station wagon.

He covers my hand holding the fob with his. His fingers are much longer than mine, and his skin has the slightest texture of roughness, though, not dry. It's the indication of both a professional and a tinkerer.

"…Unlock, remote start, trunk, panic button," his thumb moves over mine indicating each button's function. I take a breath through my nose and act unaffected.

"Would you like me to drive on the way there?" He asks as he steps away from me. He looks completely unaffected, in actuality, entirely pragmatic.

I need to get my shit together. It's just a car, it's just a party, and it's just Dr. Cullen. Carlisle.

No, tonight it's Dr. Cullen.

I take the key, give it a little toss in the air and move to the driver's side door.

"No, I'll drive. Tell me, Carlisle, is it a _stick_?" I punctuate, looking at him across the roof of the car where he's standing on the other side.

I see Carlisle's mouth twitch in blasé amusement before drawing his lips into a slight purse of a pucker.

"No, it's an _automatic_," he responds in equal punctuation, fixing the standup collar of his jacket.

I let out a breathy chuckle and we get in the car.

He gives me the rundown of the dashboard, where the headlight control is for when I need to switch over to the high beams, the emergency brake; I feel like I was driving it off the showroom floor.

"Now, Bella," he moves his hand to the top of leg. It's high enough on my thigh that I slightly tremble, feeling my shoulder blades move back and my breasts jut slightly forward. Suddenly the game I instigated has been taken from my control. "Bear in mind that the brake," he moves his hand upward just slightly, "is probably more sensitive than your truck. Same goes for the accelerator." This time he moves his hand to almost my inner thigh and I grip the steering wheel.

"Of course," I answer with false composure. I hear him click the seatbelt and I do the same before starting the car.

We're at the top of the drive before he speaks again.

"Would you like to use the navigation system to guide your way?"

I am now turning everything he's saying into subtext and double-speak.

"No, Siobhan printed a map for me; I know my way around," I add.

We travel in silence for most of the way, Carlisle putting the radio on NPR and I spend the next 30 minutes fretting over the discussion of hydro-fracking.

"Can we turn this off?" I ask, tersely. I don't wait for an answer and silence the station from the steering wheel's controls.

He distractedly hums an _mmm hmm_, and looks out the window. The silence is loud and I'm unsettled.

"What were you like in high school?" I ask, apropos of nothing.

He continues to look out the window.

"I smoked a lot of weed, read Jim Carroll and was a general prick," he says, completely disinterested in my line of questioning. I hear him shift to look at me.

"How will you describe your high school experience?" He asks, this time there is a definite edge of amusement.

"Dull and stifling," I say and he chuckles.

We drive the rest of the way in relative silence and pick up the other three in our carpool group. It's odd the glimpses of Carlisle around other people outside of myself and Esme and Alice. He discusses patients' antics outside of an exam room, office software and changes to insurance billing for the coming year. It's mundane and adult and I feel out of place not having yet truly lived a life of responsibility and consequence.

We're the last ones to arrive and most everyone has a drink in their hand already. We have four lanes for our party, each in groups of four. I reach into my bag and pull out a pair of my own bowling shoes. Gift from Charlie. As I'm putting them on Carlisle moves into the seat across from me.

"Isabella," he says my name like a web site one visits late at night. I distract myself from wanting to straddle him and pull his sweater off by tying my shoe. "Am I going to have some competition this year?" His eyes gesture down to my feet.

"You're pretty confident, Dr. Cullen, a little challenge might be fun."

He lets out another chuckle, this time low, inviting and dangerous. It makes me want to throw strikes and pay him no mind.

We divide into teams, Dr. Cullen's team shares the chair bay with my team, they made me captain just because I brought my own shoes.

Since the alley is old, you have to keep score by hand, another responsibility of captain, and the fact no one knows how to score spares and strikes makes me the keeper of our score. Dr. Cullen is also keeping score as his team's captain.

My team sucks with the exception of me. I feel Carlisle looking at my ass every time I release the ball down the lane. He's fun to watch, letting loose and making smart-alecky comments from behind the neck of his beer bottle. Everybody is enjoying the convivial atmosphere, seeing Dr. Cullen making bawdy jokes and laughing at the frivolity of our office.

But the thing I enjoy most is when Carlisle is ultracompetitive with me. He looks up at the screen to see my score, he leans over to see what I've bowled and he gives me sly smiles and raised eyebrows when I do well. I'm not a competitive person, but not only did I not want to lose, I never wanted to win as badly as I did tonight.

Our team did lose. My 183 points wasn't enough to carry it off. Dr. Cullen scored 206 points, also beating me personally.

"Where'd you learn to bowl like that, Dr. Cullen?" I ask as we lag behind making our way to the bar beyond the lanes.

"While Esme's family will say they made their money in timber, transportation, and dabbled in real estate, they made the bulk of it bootlegging during the Prohibition. They built a three-lane bowling alley in their basement and hid barrels of whiskey underneath. All very Joe Kennedy-esque. We spent our youth tenpin and duckpin bowling every time it rained or snowed."

I try to picture an 11 year old Carlisle, teasing and athletic, with hair bleached blond by the summer sun and days spent raising and lowering a spinnaker, at ease in the world of pedigrees and trust funds. I feel transitory in the most defeating of ways.

"Oh," is all I say.

I spend my evening hanging back and having the same questions asked of my future. Where I want to go to college, what I want to study, how my father will be without me. I wish Rose were here with me, telling me raunchy stories of Emmett under her breath and filling me with the ease of her pleasant small talk with strangers and acquaintances.

I go up to the bar to get another soda when someone says my name behind me.

"Bella! Hey, what's going on?"

I turn to see James.

"Hi, James, how are you? What're you doing here?" I look at him, and see the blandly handsome student athlete I remember from the party a few weeks ago. I stop my eyes from traveling over to Carlisle who's standing against the opposite wall, a beer in his hand, talking with one of the husbands. He looks at me, glances at James then back to me. No one else notices the slight glare or the brief set of his jaw. It rages inside of me and I'm on fire. I should be sick at the way it excites me and the way I want to feed off of it.

"My uncle owns the concession here, I help out sometimes. You know, bar back and bus tables and stuff. I just got here; he called and said he needed some help," he shrugs.

"Oh, that's cool," I say, thinking it's the most boring thing in the world. I chance another look at Carlisle and I see him, dark boredom and irritation simmering just beneath the surface.

"So, um, sorry I haven't called you in a while, things are so, you know, crazy and stuff." I tell him, leaning back against the bar.

James moves closer and I don't move away from him.

"Yeah, I get it, work and family and holidays and all that bullshit." He tries to give me a slow smile that probably makes other girls go warm in their naughty places. The seething from across the room is warming my naughty places.

I turn towards James and bend my head down and move a lock of my hair behind my ear. I look up and realize how affected my action just was. James is eating it up like pabulum.

"But, yeah, we should get together soon. Maybe with your friends, we could all go out and do something?" He asks all expectant and trying hard to be slick and nonchalant. Without knowing it, James wants to be everything Carlisle is and I can see his desperation trying to be so.

Turning back to the bar I look for Carlisle to see he's moved from his conversation and is making his way towards me. I turn again to face James.

"Yeah, James, I think we should hang out. You know, Emmett and Rosalie and I are going ice skating on Sunday, at our rec center, you should come with us."

Carlisle is next to me. I keep myself still enough so as not to expose the ragged pace my blood travels through my veins.

"Bella," Carlisle says my name with dangerous intimacy, "is this your boyfriend? Someone new?"

"Dr. Cullen, this is my friend, James," I introduce. I stare at Carlisle with challenge and exhilaration at this unexpected bit of jealousy.

"Ah, Jim," Carlisle reaches his hand out to shake James' hand, effectively trying to embarrass James and myself. "Lil' Bella here seems like a real firecracker, you two should have some fun." He winks and claps James on the arm.

This is ridiculous and I feel sorry for James since he looks like he missed part of the story. Which of course, he has and that only makes me feel worse for him.

"You're funny Dr. Cullen." While my response is dry, my eyes twinkle and my mouth twists into a pucker at Carlisle's attempted mischief. "James and I met at a party. We're making plans to meet up again."

"Oh, then don't let me interrupt you kids," Carlisle holds his hands in surrender; he looks like a fucking parody.

I look back at James to stop myself from laughing at this entire exchange. The poor guy, he looks like chum and Carlisle has snapping teeth.

"Hey, um, I'm gonna get back to work, but you know, I'll call you or text you or you call me. Yeah, tomorrow or whatever," he turns to go or, most likely, flee. I need to fix this situation. I leave Carlisle's self-satisfied smile at the bar and move over to James.

"Hey, I'm sorry, that was weird, right?" Fuck, I sound like Jessica. "Dr. Cullen likes to tease me," he doesn't really; for the most part he likes to just thrust inside of me. For obvious reasons, I keep this to myself.

James lets out an uncomfortable chuckle. "Whatever, the dude's probably drunk."

"Something like that," I say dismissively. "So, you want me to call you tomorrow to make plans?" I hate that I sound like I'm trying to win James' attention back.

"Yeah, that sounds good," he smiles at me and I know there's a specific place in the bowels of Hell for me to spend eternity toying with someone the way I am with James.

"Alright, cool, I'll talk to you later." I turn to leave but he grabs my arm before I can get away.

"Looking forward to it," he smiles and my returning smile is forced.

I go back to the bar to get my drink and Carlisle is still there standing and talking with Sasha.

Sasha, in her youth, had surgery to correct a cleft lip palette. The result was a full upper lip with scarring that you'd have to look really hard for, but it wouldn't matter. While not classically beautiful, she has a certain quality that makes me jealous of the fact that she has Carlisle's attention. I hate turnabout and fair play.

I'm trying to get my drink without drawing any attention to myself but Carlisle turns and sees me out of the corner of his eye.

"Bella," he says, widening the distance to include me in the conversation. "Sasha went to nursing school in Chicago; didn't you say you had applied to schools there?"

I nod my head.

"Is that so, how do you like Chicago?" She asks me.

"Oh, I don't know, I've never been there. I kind of applied all over, but I want to stay in the middle region of the country so I can be in-between my parents."

"Where's your mom live?" She asks and she's really nice.

Carlisle moves away and orders a whiskey with a beer back and an amoretto sour. He hands the drink to Sasha and keeps the other drinks for himself. The whiskey is filled more than halfway up.

"She's in Florida, I'd like to be able to see her more than every couple of years, and I kinda miss her."

She nods, understanding, I suppose. Just then, _Telephone_ comes on karaoke machine and she practically squeals.

"Oh, girl, this is my jam, I sing Beyoncé." I wondered if there would be some f/f undertones to the performance as Sasha hops away to join Irina on the little stage. I turn to look at Carlisle.

"Come on," Carlisle says, taking his drinks.

"Where?"

His eyes, looking irritated at my questioning, leans over as he passes and whispers hotly in my ear. "With me." He continues to walk to the lanes.

I look around the bar to see people talking and laughing. Two different groups singing two different songs and all completely involved in their activities. I turn and meet Carlisle knowing no one is paying me any attention.

"You want to bowl?" I wonder aloud, hoping we could go make out in dark corner or in the backseat of his car.

"Well, given our location, I think it would be the most logical activity in which to engage." He swallows some more of his whiskey and with urbane polish unknown to this geography, he licks his lips.

I can hear my respiration through the hollow of my chest and mouth as I watch the deep red of his lips and small bit of the flat of his tongue. All thoughts of James are forgotten, my fear of Rose knowing about Carlisle has dissolved, Esme is an evil I can tolerate, it's just Carlisle. And me. The bowling alley is nearly empty, most patrons having moved to the bar or left for other destinations. The fluorescent lighting is every other lane, Carlisle and I shadowed and surrounded by strips of greenish bluish tones.

"You know, this lighting is totally going to affect my game," I level at him with a dry, sarcastic tone; I can't help the smirk that follows.

"Oh, so you're concerned how you'll score?" His eyes travel from my feet, over my legs, across my hips, stomach and breasts before reaching my lips and settling on my eyes. "Is that what you're concerned about? Scoring?"

"Where you're concerned, yes," I reply picking up on the play on words.

He gives a low chuckle while bringing his drink back up to his lips. I want to lick the taste from his mouth and get drunk off the proof. But that can't happen here, as it is, we're in a public and together. But I won't deny, despite the danger and brevity of our time, I like being singled out by him.

"Ladies first," Carlisle gestures with his beer bottle and I wonder how much he's had to drink.

"So you think I'm a lady?" I ask him over my shoulder as I approach the lane. All he does is raise his eyebrows before his eyes crinkle into a smile.

Our game progresses, each matching the other's play, keeping within close distance of one another's score all while exchanging innuendo and libidinous looks.

I win. I hope I can capitalize of my victory.

"What time do you have to be home this evening?" He asks.

"Whenever I get home. Charlie just wants me to be safe."

"Good man, your father."

"I know," I reply but feel uncomfortable at this turn of conversation.

Carlisle looks at me once again, his eyes not as sharp as before. I look to see both his drinks have been finished.

"Let's head back," he gestures for me to go before him, his hand on the small of my back, just where I like it.

"Dr. Cullen!" Sasha and Irina bubble when we walk back into the bar. "We haven't sung together yet!"

"Oh, ladies, I don't know if I'm up for it at this point." His voice is gravely and rough. I want to drip honey all over my body and have him lick it off of me.

"Come on, Carlisle, you always sing with us!"

He laughs and has a comfortably resigned expression on his face.

"What did you pick out for us this year?" He asks as the two women pull him up to the stage. Siobhan moves next to me and orders one more Long Island iced tea. Even I know enough about drinks to know those are all kinds of liquor.

"What's with Dr. Cullen singing?" I ask once she's wobbles back around to view the stage.

She chuckles. "Every year Dr. Cullen let's those two pick out a song for them to sing together. It's always inappropriate on many le-," she belches and covers her mouth, giggling, "levels." She tries to wink at me but it just looks like she's having a petit mal.

I hear the karaoke machine start with the distinctive whine of the guitar and drag on the drum. I'm surprised by the deep tone of Carlisle's voice singing, of all things, a Prince song. A filthy Prince song. Although, I think all of his songs are on the other side of filthy.

"Erotic City…" Carlisle sings twice. The two women join him in backup.

He continues through the song. I am equal parts mortified and enthralled but most likely because I'm completely sober. Most will probably only remember the thought of Carlisle on stage, not the rendition of this song. Besides the complete wrongness of this song, it still makes me ache.

"…Ure a sinner, I don't care…"

"…I just want your creamy thighs…"

I take a slow, deep inhale and imagine Carlisle between my creamy thighs.

The song finally ends and the two women are hugging each other and stumbling around. Carlisle sort of misses the step of the stage but recovers and finds me watching him and winks. I snort a laugh.

We all gather our coats, the bill for the party having been prearranged, and exit to the parking lot. It's pouring outside. I look at my phone to see it's almost 1:00 AM.

Everyone in my group piles into the car, loud and boisterous and Carlisle gets into the front with me.

"You're okay to drive in this weather," he asks me quietly and with surprising clarity and concern.

"Yeah," I whisper back. "Alright everyone, buckle up, I'm not moving this car until everyone is in safe," I say, looking in the back seat to see my three passengers fumble with the belts.

"Okay, we're," belch, "all good," Siobhan laughs. Fred and Sasha laugh too, Carlisle smiles with heavy eyelids. I want to reach over and stroke his cheek.

It's scary and takes me over and hour and a half before I make it down the Cullen's drive.

"You should stay," Carlisle says as he grips the car door to steady himself. "You're tired, the roads are terrible and I'm in no condition to help you arrive home safely," he says resolutely. "I can call your father if you like," he offers.

"Um, no, here, let's get you inside." I move to the main house when Carlisle takes my hand and moves towards his cottage. Halfway down the path he stops and backs me up to a tree, his hands hold either side of my face. I'm cold and wet and I want to curl on the hearth with a glowing fire burning.

His breath is alcohol laced and the small glints of the walkway lighting are the only illumination.

"I won't be sloppy seconds," he tells me and my face moves into confusion before I understand he's speaking of James. "You're staying with me tonight."

He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me away from the tree. It's me, not drunken Carlisle who stumbles. I don't know if it's the cold or the statement he just laid out there that has me shaking.

We enter into the cottage and he makes his way toward the bedroom.

"Call your father," he says authoritatively before walking into his bedroom towards the bathroom.

I dial and Charlie picks up after the first ring.

"Bells," he says. The worry is evident.

"Dad, hi."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just wiped out. It took a long time to get back. This rain is brutal. I'm just at the Cullen's place now."

"Do you want me to come and pick you up?" I can hear him moving things around on his desk.

"No, unless you mind if I stay at the Cullen's'. I'm tired, I don't have to be to work until 10 tomorrow, and I just want to go to sleep."

"Where're you going to sleep?"

"In one of their guest rooms, or on the couch, I don't know yet."

Charlie is silent while he thinks this over and I dig my fingernails into the palm of my hand. I don't deserve such a good father being such a liar.

"You won't be any trouble to them?"

"I don't think so, it was offered to me. Dr. Cullen said he was in no condition to follow me home and felt safer if I stayed off the roads."

"Let me speak to Dr. Cullen," he says and I shit a brick.

"Um, okay, he's uh, in the bathroom, I think." Just as I say this, Carlisle walks out in his short, black boxer briefs. My mouth becomes a desert.

He twitches his finger impatiently for me to hand over my phone.

"Chief, Carlisle Cullen," gone are the traces of thick words and hoarse voice. This is the voice of office Carlisle.

"Charlie, no, it's been a long day, I imagine Isabella is not being very forthcoming about her exhaustion," he nods his head while my father speaks.

"No, it's no trouble at all. I'd prefer if she stayed here, quite frankly, it would give me peace of mind that she not be out in this weather."

He's good. Then I dig my nails in on my other palm because I'm a horrible person for using my father's concern as an excuse to spend the night at Carlisle's.

"Alright then, it's settled. You too, goodnight, Chief." Carlisle ends the call and hands the phone back to me.

"There's a toothbrush on the sink," he says as he moves to the bed.

I wash my face and brush my teeth and look at myself in the mirror. I don't like what I see. I'm conflicts warring with one another. I shouldn't take advantage of the situation that's been presented here tonight. Charlie is trusting me with Dr. Cullen. And Charlie is completely unaware of the fact that Esme and Alice are out of town.

Yet, the other part of me doesn't want this opportunity to pass by. I'm greedy and selfish like that. I want to crawl into Carlisle's bed and have him tell me he's the only one I get to sleep with.

In then end though, it's a non-issue. Carlisle's passed out and breathing heavily from his mouth when I open the door. Standing here in my bra and panties, I don't want to get into his bed. I walk out to the living room and onto the couch, pulling a heavy Pendleton blanket over me and take one of the small pillows to cushion my head. It's uncomfortable, the heavy wood of the Mission style couch not offering any softness. I slump down so my head is flat on the leather cushions and close my eyes. I remain in the twilight of sleep until I hear feet moving towards me.

"This isn't where you should be," the rough voice whispers as he bends to scoop me up. I wrap my arms around his neck and feel the warmth of his chest along my curved body.

* * *

I cannot believe I just cockblocked. I'll make up for it next chap, although that's what I promised some reviewers about this chap.

I'm participating in Fandom Against Juvenile Diabetes, here's a mess of a link, I've also posted the link on my profile page, **http: / fandomajuvdiabetes(dot)blogspot(dot)com /** (remove the spaces and add ".".) If you go under the Stories tab I've written a personal account of being diagnosed with this chronic disease. I won't lie, it's a bitch. For a mere **$5** contribution, seriously, **$5**, (although more = muy bueno,) you will receive a compilation of stories from some amazing authors, and me. Don't forget, contributions made this year are tax deductible (US), not a bad thing since we are coming to the end of the tax year. Compilations will go out mid-March. If you want something in particular written, let me know, I may go with it, I'm easy like that. Or drop me a tweet, wrong13.

Innumerable thanks to Ms Cuppy for her unflagging support of Dirty Carlisle, she made a FB page, I post some teasers and questions where the responses make me laugh, link's on my profile. And a thank you away from DC to Zoya Zalan for reminding me of the Rainbow Bridge, she's good people like that, plus, she's writing again too, hoping for a Playing With Fire update!

Another long a/n, until next time, let me know what you think.


End file.
